


Strangers

by 2percent



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Argonian Nerevarine, Argonian in Thedas, Argonians, Crossover, Dragonborn | Dovahkiin in Thedas (Dragon Age), Drug Addiction, Elder Scrolls/Dragon Age Crossover, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Hero of Kvatch in Thedas, Insomnia, Language Barrier, Nerevarine in Thedas, Nudity, Skooma, Telekinesis, This will likely end in tears, Thu'um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2percent/pseuds/2percent
Summary: The burgeoning Inquistion isn't quite sure what to do with the bizarre lizard-woman who popped up in the wake of the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She doesn't seem sure what to do either, but she's strangely happy to lend them a hand anyways. It soon becomes apparent that she isn't the first visitor to Thedas...Godslayers walk among them.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Solas, Male Lavellan/Josephine Montilyet
Comments: 28
Kudos: 206





	1. Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen assaults a total stranger.

“Commander!”

Cullen saw the elven recruit’s pointing finger and followed it to the green, clawed hand curled over the far edge of the spacious rocky outcropping they stood on. He heaved a weary sigh.

His already-small patrol, meant to search the blasted mountain for survivors, had been forcibly split up when a rift opened up in middle of them. Cullen had been forced up a precariously narrow, uneven mountain path with three young, inexperienced, and frightened recruits, one nursing a broken leg. For over an hour now, his energy had to be split between navigating the icy mountainside, slaying any stray demons that got in their way, and ensuring that the recruits held formation and _didn’t lose their heads_. They were almost back at camp by now, where Cullen would have to return to managing a shaken, slapdash military trying to find its feet. This demon was simply one more problem he didn’t want to deal with today.

He quickly drew his sword and held it at the ready, using his other hand to ward the recruits behind him. The demon had undoubtably heard Yewen’s call, so it would know it had lost the element of surprise and come charging over the cliffside.

Except it didn’t. After a few seconds, a forearm, covered by an oversized metal gauntlet, slowly reached over the edge. Cullen narrowed his eyes. Not a demon, but an abomination—no demon would bother scavenging armor. This problem had just gotten worse. He was tempted to charge right now, slicing off its limbs and kicking it off the cliff, but he erred on the side of caution.

Then the abomination slowly hauled the rest of itself into view, and Cullen’s eyes widened in befuddlement. Abominations’ faces tended towards grotesque approximations of humans’, but this one hadn’t bothered. If anything, it looked like a dragonling: long snout, smooth green scales, violet vertically-slit eyes warily taking in the surroundings. All other details were obscured by the loose, scavenged hooded robes it was covered in and a frosty aura, distinct from the light snowfall—likely some kind of persistent spell. It didn’t seem to have any armor aside from the gauntlet on its right arm or any visible weapons, but that didn’t mean much for an abomination.

He was so occupied taking in its odd appearance that he almost missed the elf, Yewen, take a shaky step beside him. “Recruit…” he warned. He glanced back. The two human soldiers were still behind him, Mal keeping her weight off her injured leg by leaning on Eustace, and they each held a nervous blade in their free hand. Not entirely defenseless; just mostly. He looked forwards. The abomination had almost finished climbing, a foot wrapped in leather except for its scaled, clawed toes planted on the cliff edge.

Then Yewen yelled a terrified battle cry.

“RECRUIT, STAND DOWN!” Cullen roared, but it was too late. The elf charged the abomination, wobbling sword-point first. Cullen followed, cursing.

As he expected, the abomination reacted instantly, springing to both feet on solid ground, while its armored hand gestured behind it, and then a bladed mage staff flew up from under the cliff edge. Cullen’s stomach dropped. It _was_ armed.

The wooden staff snapped into its open hand, and the abomination swung it up with the telltale hum of magic, just as Yewen was a couple yards away. Cullen braced himself for the sight of the recruit getting blown back by a fireball or something equally deadly. Instead, a only small glowing orb flew out from the head. On hitting Yewen, it surrounded him with a purple aura, and he drifted gently off the ground. For a couple seconds, his legs kept moving as if he were still charging through the snow. His battle cry died off, and then he began screaming, all his limbs flailing in terror.

“Recruit! Don’t—! Calm down before you take your head off!” Cullen stopped to shout, nervously tracking Yewen’s swinging blade. At least there was no sign of any crushing. “What are you—? No, don’t _throw_ it!” Again, he didn’t listen, not even taking aim before flinging his sword at the abomination.

The creature didn’t so much as flinch as the blade spun through the air. In fact, the sword missed it entirely, going above its head, but it merely waggled its staff, and another bolt stopped the sword in midair. The abomination didn’t even give it a second glance. Instead, it faced Yewen directly, and Cullen could see its lips curl in a grin, showing a jaw full of vicious triangular teeth.

Cullen snarled and charged forward. It was toying with his men, and he would see it pay. Even so, his templar mind raced. This was a strange new breed of abomination, fighting with a new spell. Well, telekinetic spells were hardly new, but ones like this were rarely used in the heat of combat, when there were plenty of more direct spells that demanded less focus. In fact, most telekinetic spells wouldn’t have allowed Yewen that much movement. Perhaps that was related to how casually the abomination cast it?

He kept his eye on the upright staff, prepared to dodge the next spell. It saw him coming and went on the defensive, bending its knees and griping its staff in both hands. Cullen took the advantage and closed the distance. He could feel the unnatural chill of its icy aura, like a miniature blizzard. He stabbed forward at the creature’s chest.

It dodged easily, stepping to his right. Cullen tracked it, preparing to follow with a slash, but the staff, almost too fast to see, swung from below again. The blunt head hit him right in the chest, glowing with magic. His armor took the impact, but he was sent flying back a bit before stopping midair. He cursed. He had been hit with the same spell as Yewen had. At least he had a few daggers on him, balanced for throwing.

Screams tore his thoughts from combat. Craning his head, he saw the other recruits, Eustace and Mal, floating too, crying and flailing in panic. At least, Eustace was—Mal was focused on cradling her broken leg. That last spell had hit all of them at once!

He faced the abomination again, snarling in righteous fury. It was back upright in a casual, confident slouch. Its right, armored hand rested the staff upright on the ground, and its left hand akimbo. It looked him lazily in the eye and started hissing at him in a low, raspy voice. Cullen defiantly glared at it. Hopefully hidden from its view, his free hand started to reach for a dagger at his back. The abomination didn’t seem to notice. After a moment, it started hissing again, more slowly, more…

Wait. He listened carefully. No, not hissing. It was _talking_ to him. It was repeating its words, loudly enunciating as one would for a confused foreigner. It was actually trying to communicate to him in a completely unfamiliar language.

Again, Cullen was thrown for a loop. Language, as a concept, didn’t really matter to beings of the Fade, where intent ruled. Demons didn’t actually speak any language so much as they made use of whatever language their target was most familiar with, so them being stymied by any language barrier was unheard of. Abominations generally followed the same rule. Even in cases where the possession was light enough to not warp the mage’s body—which this clearly was not—any possessed mage would’ve at least tried Common by now.

Furthermore, whatever this language was, it was utterly new to Cullen. Over his years in Kirkwall, he had been exposed to many languages, even Tevene and Qunlat. Coupled with the few months he had spent in the Divine’s company since Cassandra recruited him, there shouldn’t have been a language in Thedas that he couldn’t at least recognize. And yet, this abomination had one.

Cullen almost missed it roll its eyes and give up on talking to him. It stalked off grumbling, circling around his still floating body, while the recruits, each at varying stages of panic by now, stared. Cullen stared as well. Then, he started as he realized that he could actually turn his body. Experimentally, he thought about moving. Sure enough, his body did slowly drift through the air at a snail's pace, as if he were floating on the surface of a lake. Seriously, what kind of spell was this? Telekinesis spells shouldn’t allow targets to move on their own!

“Commander?” The fearful call broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up. The abomination was now approaching Mal. From what he could see, its eyes were focused on her injured leg.

“NO!” he roared, throwing his sword hand out. While he had once been a mighty, renowned templar, that had been months ago. When Cassandra recruited him, he dropped not only his title, but the lyrium that both granted him power and bound him to the Order. He knew the risks—he had seen too many other former templars fall to lyrium addiction not to—but after Kinloch, after Kirkwall, the life of a templar was no longer something he could bear. For months now, his body ached for more lyrium as its existing stores dwindled. He still had his templar abilities, but they were weaker and far more straining to use, which was the main reason he had yet to wield them in the face of the Breach.

Now? He didn’t hesitate. He prayed to the Maker for strength, and a wave of light burst from his fist.

The abomination’s head snapped back to him, and it raised its staff in defense, but to no effect. The purge washed over both it and himself, banishing all magic. Cullen dropped back onto solid ground, landing on his feet with more grace than he expected from his aching body. The abomination, meanwhile, stumbled back, the frosty aura gone. Its slit eyes blinked owlishly for a moment. Then it hunched over, drawing in all of its limbs, its raspy voice babbling in outrage. Cullen stared for a moment before realizing: it was cold! The only thing missing from the pose was shivering! Though that struck him as odd. That icy aura was protecting it from the cold? How did that work?

He shook the pointless curiosity out of his head. The recruits were still floating helplessly in the air around them, but the abomination was now weakened by the cold, and his purge had deprived it of magic! He had it on the defensive! This time, before engaging, he pulled the shield off his back and strapped it on while it frantically waved its staff. Then, he charged.

The abomination, again, gripped its staff and braced itself for him. Again, he lead with a stab, and again, it sidestepped him. This time, though, it was now in range of his shield. He swung out with it, and his opponent barely bent out of the way, only for his sword to swing down on its exposed head. Its staff snapped up to defend, and his blade sunk into the wood.

He bit back a curse. His sword was stuck, and it would take precious time and effort to free it. Meanwhile, the abomination’s two hands had far more leverage with which to work against him. Mind racing, he took a gamble and threw his weight forward, toppling both of them. The abomination landed on its back with a yelp, his armored body crashed on top, and the violent jerk ripped his sword free. Quickly, he raised the blade into the air. When the creature raised its staff to block, instead of slicing, he brought the sword’s pommel down right onto the staff. The worn wood bent and cracked under the mighty blow, spraying splinters and glittering shards of lyrium into the abomination’s dumbstruck face. It didn’t did break all the way, but it was now functionally useless, unless it intended to wave the bladed butt at him.

He could hear the recruits around him cheering for his victory. He raised his sword again, when suddenly, the creature’s leg sprung out, kicking him in the chest and throwing him into the air for the second time. This time, however, he landed heavily in the thin snow, the air driven from his lungs, and pain flaring where his head hit rock. Groaning, he forced himself up on his elbows to see his foe.

The abomination was still staring dumbly at the splintered staff in its hands. After a few seconds, it snarled, broke fully it over its knee, and tossed the chunks away. With a quick, fluid motion, it rolled back on to its feet, prompting Cullen to try to stand himself. It took a deep breath, set its feet solidly, and gripped the front of its ill-fitting robes with its unarmored hand. Cullen had only just made it onto his own feet when in a blink, the creature seemed to tear off its clothes.

Cullen was stunned. This abomination had done nothing but surprise him since it showed up, but this took the cake. Firstly, _it_ was very clearly a _she_. She may have had a head like a dragonling, thick claws on every finger and toe, a thick, long tail, and reptilian scales instead of skin, but she was otherwise definitely shaped like a toned human woman. Her scales, a dull, muddy green with a paler underbelly, and the tight wrappings of scavenged cloth around her unmentionables did little to hide stunning proportions and a physique to rival Cassandra’s. Really, if she actually looked human, he’d be praying under his breath for focus, but altogether, she only baffled Cullen.

Not for the first time, doubts clouded his mind on whether this really was an abomination. He had seen a disturbingly wide variety of possession cases, the most drastic of them messily twisting the flesh of their hosts into nightmarish, unnatural forms. Even desire abominations, attempting to mimic the allure of their demon forms, would be covered in obvious wrinkles and lumps. This creature, meanwhile, showed no signs of any twisted flesh, despite all of the clearly inhuman features.

Again, he tried to shake the distracting thoughts from his head. The lizard-creature had dumped her robes into a pile to her side, but still kept the oversized gauntlet on her right arm. She then planted her feet on the ground, one ahead of the other, bent her knees, and raised her curled fists in a… brawling stance? She intended to fight him with her bare hands? For that matter, wasn’t she even colder then before? The furred robes were tattered and poorly-fitting, but they were leagues better than practical nudity!

But she looked him dead in the eye and beckoned with her forward, armored hand.

Fine, she could have it her way. He steadily strode forward, and swung his sword at her in an overhead chop. He missed.

Cullen blinked. She had sidestepped so slightly, he barely noticed her move. He reversed the momentum of his chop into a horizontal slice. He missed. She lifted her elbow clear and leaned just far back enough for his blade to slip by harmlessly. He stepped after her and swung back the other way. He missed. In a blur, she ducked his strike entirely, stepping into a crouch at his side. Startled by how close she was, he bashed her face with his shield. He missed. She gracefully used the momentum to spin behind him. By the time he whirled around to face her, she was back in her original stance, with their positions flipped.

She showed her teeth in a mocking grin, and beckoned him again.

Cullen started to see red, and charged with a yell.

The next minute proved to be one of the most humiliating experiences in his life. Despite years of experience with blade and shield, he could never land a single blow on the creature. It was like trying to cut a falling leaf! No matter what maneuvers he attempted, she seemed to effortlessly dance out of the way of his blade, stepping and ducking and even flipping clear constantly. The few times he did make contact, it was more her deflecting his sword by slapping it with her gauntlet or grabbing the edge of his shield to yank him off balance.

He was reminded of his few spars with Leliana and Hawke. Both had been slippery opponents—Hawke especially so—but hardly untouchable. They still used their blades to parry and counter, they sweated as much as he did, and they actually went on the offensive. This abomination, meanwhile, did nothing but dodge, without ever seeming to tire. The only moves she ever made against him involved rasping unintelligible insults and flashing him that damned cocky grin every chance she got!

“Commander! Let me help!”

Like he was breaking out of a trance, Cullen’s attention snapped away from the creature to Yewen, who was back on his feet, picking up his sword. In fact, all the recruits were no longer levitating. Had he really not noticed the spell wear off? Actually, wait. How long had he been fighting this thing? Did the spell really last that long?

Still, the situation had improved. “Yewen! With me! Flank it!” he ordered. The elf nodded, and approached the abomination from the opposite side, sword out. “Eustace! Stay with the injured!” The man stood guard with his own sword and shield between it and the last recruit, who was seated on the ground with her broken leg laid out.

The creature, meanwhile, show no sign of concern. Her stance did shift, her feet and hands spreading out much more widely, and she turned her head so that she could watch both of them with her wide-set eyes, but that seemed to be the extent of her reaction.

Cullen let the recruit move first, focusing on pinning their target between them. The elf gripped with both arms and wound back—leaving himself entirely open and unbalanced, damn it—and slashed diagonally with a loud cry. Cullen lunged forward, prepared to strike wherever the creature dodged.

She didn’t just dodge. Her armored hand snapped up and grabbed the recruit’s thick blade near the tip, steadily absorbing its momentum as her body spun out of its way. Her left leg snapped out high, and the whirling heel bashed the side of Cullen’s head before he could react, throwing his lunge off wide. She completed her spin with both feet on the ground and a tight grip on the sword-tip, holding it low, not even looking at the shaking elf on the other end. Even with both hands on the hilt, the recruit’s attempts to pull or wiggle the sword away seemed fruitless.

Cullen shook the stars out of his vision and glared. Again with the casual defiance of conventional combat! He threw himself back into the fray, hoping the lizard-creature’s awkward position would give him an advantage. Again, she defied expectations. She continued to dodge each swipe of his sword without ever losing her grip on the other blade, even dragging the elf along, keeping him off-balance. This time, however, she was more aggressive. Her legs would frequently lash out at his feet, knees, and even his arms, interrupting his own attacks. Even her long tail got involved when she whipped it into his jaw, the tip slapping him with nearly as much force as her kicks.

As he reeled back from that, her grip on the sword-tip suddenly tightened. She shoved backwards and rammed the pommel into Yewen’s midsection. His grip broke as he fell, clutching his belly, and she smoothly tossed the sword into the air and caught it by the hilt in her unarmored hand.

Cullen regained his senses just in time to see the creature stepping up to him brazenly, a sword at her side. Panicking at the sight of her armed, he slashed wildly. Her sword clanged into his, and after only a few exchanged blows, they locked against each other. By now, Cullen was sore and exhausted, sweating despite the freezing air. His grip and blade shook, while his foe didn’t seem effected in the slightest, smiling easily.

She suddenly raised her gauntlet in a fist, posed to punch his face. He flinched, raising his shield, but his sword hand wavered. Her sword abruptly twisted, wrenching his out of his grip and sending it flying. Then her fist came down past his now nonexistent guard and struck his breastplate hard enough to throw him back onto the ground. Thankfully, his head didn’t hit anything this time, but his gratitude was short-lived when he saw the tip of the creature’s sword hovering between his eyes.

Slowly, he eyes traveled up the blade to her smug expression. Was this it? After Kinloch, after Kirkwall, was this where Cullen Rutherford met his end? It was fitting, he supposed. After surviving two disasters involving rampant demons and piles of dead mages and templars, it figured his luck would run out during the third, greatest one. No Hero or Champion to bail him out this time. If only this damned abomination would quit stalling! What did she want? To watch him squirm? Abominations had magic for that! Why wasn’t—?

“DEMONS!”

The shriek caught both their attentions. They looked to see a pair of shades rapidly gliding down the mountain slope, almost upon Eustace and Mal. Cullen looked back at her only to see her throw the sword down at his side and sprint away.

He blinked at the sky for a few rapid heartbeats. Then he grabbed the sword and scrambled onto his feet. The abomination was crouched low, then impossibly, she sprang into the air like an arrow. She practically flew straight into one of the shades, grabbing its long neck in her unarmored hand before she slammed it into the rocky mountainside, just above the soldiers’ heads. It screeched and flailed its claws at her, but only got a few scratches on her before she planted her feet, cocked her armored fist back, and practically punched through its head.

Cullen, meanwhile, stabbed at the other shade in the back as Eustace fended it off. It screeched and turned on him, but the recruit took the opportunity the strike it in the back as well. Between the two of them, the lesser demon was easily hacked apart. The lizard-creature then slid down to their level, carelessly tossing the dissipating remains of her target aside, ignoring the trickles of red dripping from her light scratches. Cullen took a deep breath, straightened up, and looked at her.

She didn’t even hesitate against the other demons. The moment his recruits were in danger, she literally sprang to their defense, despite previously fighting them. At least, she was fighting him and Yewen, if it could even be called that. She had spent the entire encounter merely reacting to them, only going on the offensive in that final clash with himself. Even the levitation spell she used against them was only meant to disable.

There was no doubt in Cullen’s mind that she had been holding back against them. With just the raw strength needed to kick Cullen, a heavily-armored soldier, fully off the ground; to overpower another soldier’s two-handed grip on their sword from the wrong end; to jump that high, that far, that quickly; and to crush a demon’s head with a single punch; it was clear she didn’t even need magic. If she wanted them dead, they would know.

She met his gaze evenly, while the other soldiers stared in awe and bewilderment. Suddenly, she broke it to look up the mountainside again. She pointed silently. Cullen followed her clawed finger to see another batch of demons appearing over the ridge: several more shades, a few wraiths, and a large rage demon.

“Damn it,” he growled, holding his sword and shield ready. They spotted these ones sooner, and they clustered around the rage demon, which only moved at slow, lumbering pace, which gave the soldiers more time to respond. “Form up!” he called, stepping in front of Mal. Eustace stood to his right, but Yewen…

“Commander?” Cullen spared a glance, then remembered that the sword in his hand wasn’t _his_.

“Just leave me, Commander,” Mal groaned. Cullen bit back an impulsive rebuke. She had a point. Even _if_ they were all armed and on their feet, he doubted this inexperienced squad could even survive against that many demons. They would have to turn and flee, leaving their injured, unless…

Then, he felt a heavy tap on his back and a rush of unfamiliar magic. Turning, he saw the creature holding a new metal staff, with no sign as to where it came from. Moreover, there were almost a dozen templar weapons surrounded with purple auras, simply floating in the air behind her back: polearms, axes, and a variety of swords, including, to his surprise, his own familiar blade.

Her staff gently prodded him once more, and Cullen could feel her magic wash over not only himself, but the rest of the soldiers. Despite the others’ startled reactions, Cullen forced himself to remain calm and not fight the magic. If she wanted them dead, he reminded himself, they already would be. While he couldn’t identify the first spell, beyond it feeling like a barrier but not really, the second one was healing magic. It seemed focused on replenishing his energy, slightly soothing his burning lungs and muscles, though the general feeling of exhaustion remained.

Apparently done with him, she quickly cast a few more spells on herself, closing her scratches and reapplying the icy aura he had purged before. She then reached and poked Mal with her staff, who, again, drifted off the ground with a startled cry.

“Stay calm,” he ordered her, despite his pounding heart as he watched the creature point her staff and move Mal towards the cliff, away from the approaching demons. “You’ll be alright.”

“Commander,” Eustace hissed panickily, “you actually trust that thing?”

Cullen didn’t trust himself to meet the recruit’s eyes, instead facing the approaching demons. The shades were growing restless, and most of them broke away to charge down the rocky slope. The lizard-woman walked between Cullen and Eustace to their front, taking point. He didn’t argue. As she did so, she casually plucked his familiar sword from the floating armory, still hovering at her back, and handed it to him hilt first. He shuffled the sword he was holding over to Yewen and grabbed his own blade. “We don’t have a choice,” he stated grimly, raising his shield.

The shades were nearly upon them, hissing and screeching in an unholy cacophony. What Cullen wouldn’t give for archer support right now.

Of course, just as he thought that, the creature snapped her staff forward with a sharp cry. Three of the swords behind her shot through the air, and each speared a different lesser shade through the chest, throwing it back up the mountainside where it screeched and thrashed in pain. In the second it took Cullen to realize what just happened, she had already sprung up the slope to meet the rest of the demons head on, the remaining floating weapons following as if tied to an invisible backpack. She deftly swapped the staff for a spear and wasted no time stabbing at the shades as they swirled around her.

From a distance, Cullen realized, she was captivating to watch in combat. She spun and leapt about the steep, rocky terrain with the grace, energy, and speed of a Rivaini dancer on a stage. Even Hawke would be envious, and that madwoman jumped between the rooftops of Kirkwall for fun! Any shade that kept up with her movements long enough to get close—without getting a hole punched in it by her spear—had even more trouble actually striking her than Cullen did, between her inhuman agility, her spear shaft, her armored fist, her lashing legs and tail, and even her frosty aura.

She pivoted on a heel and used her entire weight to drive her spear straight through the chest of a greater shade below her on the slope. As it reared back, she let go of the shaft completely, pulled the two axes from behind her, and twirled them around before jamming them deep into the necks of the two closest shades, one of them already injured from the sword in its chest. She didn’t bother holding on to the axes, letting the demons fall away and dissipate as she spun back to the shade with her spear. She jumped and planted both feet on its body, grabbed the spear shaft, and yanked it out while kicking the shade down the slope at the same time.

It landed heavily at Cullen’s feet, snapping him and the other soldiers out of their trance. He wasted no time stabbing at the prone demon, the recruits quickly joining. It swung a lumbering fist out, but Cullen’s shield blocked it easily before Yewen’s blade swung down on its head and killed it.

Unfortunately, this caught the attention of the other shades, which finally took notice of the weaker targets at the base of the slope. A few of them screeched and descended, and then Cullen was too busy fighting off a new wave of demons to pay the creature any more attention. Mal was still floating behind them helplessly, so they had to spread out to make sure none of the shades passed around them. It didn’t take Cullen long to slay the shade that had targeted him, but he was kept busy keeping an eye on the recruits and the handling the trickle of additional shades reaching them.

He had just finished off a third shade when there was a sudden explosion from the slope. He looked and only barely saw a green blur zoom just over his head, streaking fire, as a wave of heat followed. His head snapped around to watch the creature bounce off the ground, miss Mal by a hair, and fly over the cliff. And then she stopped.

Cullen stared as she was surrounded in the purple glow of her odd telekinesis spell, and she righted herself in midair. The scales of her arms and torso were scorched, and the cloth around her chest was actually on fire despite her icy aura, but she only spat blood and growled in irritation. Her clawed hand reached up to tear the burning fabric away and…

Cullen’s mind went blank for a second. No teats. _Huh._ That just raised even more questions—none of which, mind, he really wanted answered.

Fortunately, the creature herself served as an excellent distraction. Some of her weapons flew to her from where the blast had scattered them and arranged themselves at her back again, except for the staff, which she grabbed midflight. She raised it and started casting a series of spells: a wave of healing magic passed over her, partially healing her burnt scales; the miniature snowstorm of her frost aura was replaced by heat waves and dancing embers; a thick vial of lyrium potion flew up from below the cliff edge into her open, unarmored hand; and finally, she started to fly forwards, back to the ledge.

Suddenly, Cullen heard a cry of pain from Eustace. Looking, he saw the recruit drop his sword and stumble back from his opponent, clutching at a bleeding wrist. Cullen cursed himself for forgetting about the demons. He started to rush over, when suddenly, three swords flew past him and the recruit, and skewered the shade’s head, belly, and raised arm, killing it instantly.

Instead of wasting anymore time looking at whatever other tricks the creature had, he took stock of the situation. There were three lesser shades left, but more pressingly, the rage demon had finally arrived, and up close, it was even bigger than he had thought. As it finally plodded off the slope, leaving a wide trail of melted snow, he could see that its massive, hunched body towered over him. Three wraiths, augmented by its fire, swirled around it. Yewen held his sword at the ready, somehow standing with more confidence then ever before, but Eustace was entirely focused on staunching the flow of blood from his arm. Cullen was starting to think they should’ve ran, unexpected ally or otherwise.

His thoughts were cut off by two of the wraiths throwing out fiery bolts of magic. His heart sank when he realized they were aiming for Mal, still helplessly floating in the air. He rose his hand, trying to muster up the energy for another purge, but nothing happened. He could only watch as the fireballs streaked towards their target, who screwed her eyes shut.

Then a pink glimmer surrounded her. It only lasted for a second, but each fireball, upon hitting it, immediately bounced back at the wraiths. As the projectiles burst in the demons’ faces, Cullen looked back at the lizard-woman, who was heaving a sigh of relief as she finally set foot back on solid ground. With another gesture, a templar shield drifted up from below the cliff edge (just how much equipment was down there?), which she pressed into Mal’s hands. The soldier, blinking owlishly, clutched it like a lifeline.

In a blink, the creature swung her staff into the air grandly, and all the scattered axes and swords she had used and discarded floated into the air as one. She started flicking the staff about, and each with each gesture, a blade flung itself at a demon. An axe slashed at a shade’s arm before coming to a stop behind it. A sword shot through the middle of a wraith like a tailor’s needle. She was like a conductor of a macabre symphony, Cullen distantly thought.

The shades fell quickly before the onslaught. The rage demon only took glancing blows, but it was left howling and swatting at the air as if hounded by insects. The wraiths were the trickiest, as they started dodging the flying blades and flinging fiery bolts at her, identifying her as the most dangerous target. This time, Cullen was close enough to step in, raising his shield to block each of them. As a former templar, he had dealt with far worse than these trivial missiles, and he easily defended the creature from interruption. Her pace sped up, her weapons became a storm of metal, the wraiths could no longer dodge, and then only the rage demon was left. Seeing this, it clenched its fists and howled, and Cullen had to shield his face from the heated gale rushing from it. When it was finally done, he was certain it had _grown_.

“I don’t think the big one’s going down the same way,” he said dryly. He doubted the creature understood him any more than he understood her, but she seemed to agree. She raised her staff, and every single blade turned to face the giant demon. She swung it down and turned the demon into a pincushion, swords sinking nearly to their hilts and axes burying their entire heads in its molten hide.

The demon roared in outrage, faced her directly, and charged. Cullen, right in front of her, could only take knee and raise his shield, until a scaly arm wrapped around his waist. The freezing mountain air was replaced by the uncomfortable heat of her fire cloak, and then he felt his feet leave the ground as she _leaped_.

He blinked at the rushing landscape until she landed on the other side of the rage demon and set him down on his feet. She wasted no time swapping the staff for the only remaining weapon at her back, the halberd, and swinging at the demon. Cullen, once he finally regained his wits, looked around again. The recruits were all huddled against the slope, on the far side of the outcropping from them. Eustace still clutched his bloody hand, Mal was still hovering—either the creature or Yewen had moved her—and Yewen stood on guard, both hands on his sword. Cullen, assured, turned back to the fight.

The demon, teetering on the cliff, had finally turned around. It clenched a large, burning fist and swung down. The lizard-woman, as swift as ever, dodged it with a hop and, ignoring the spray of gravel from the impact, jabbed the point of the halberd at its face. Cullen stood by her and stabbed at the vulnerable fist while his mind raced.

He didn’t normally think of rage demons and the like as having balance, seeing as how they stood on amorphous blobs that blended into the ground, but seeing this demon on the cliff edge gave him the idea of simply pushing it off. He highly doubted the fall would kill it—the cliff was short enough that a human might survive it—but it would give his squad time to flee with the injured, and then he could lead a more prepared group back to finish it.

Assuming, of course, the lizard-woman didn’t just kill it herself with yet another new trick.

In any case, she seemed to have the same plan as him. Her swings and jabs seemed aimed to drive the demon against the edge of the cliff, often jostling the weapons still embedded in its hide through their exposed burning grips. As rage demons often were, it was nothing if not predictable. After bearing a series of attacks, it would roar and lunge, fists swinging and heat flaring. The woman, however, would already be waiting on the cliff edge so as to keep it in position, and easily dodged by vaulting over it.

Cullen, meanwhile, found himself with little to do. Being far less agile and less capable of repositioning the demon, he couldn’t afford to grab its attention away, and because his sword had less reach than her halberd, attacking exposed himself to more of the demon’s oppressive heat. All he could do was wait at a distance, dart in for a few strikes whenever it lunged in another direction, retreat, and repeat.

After a few cycles of this, the demon decided that it had enough. It roared into the air and then curled its arms in. He could see the heat and energy gathering and recognized the explosive blast it was building up. It was likely the same attack that had blown the creature away in the first place, but greater. “Fall back!” he shouted, hoping she understood his intent if not his words.

As he started to back away himself, keeping his shield up, she suddenly jumped to his side, holding her staff behind him to cut off his retreat. Before he could protest, touched the staff head to him and rapidly cast a series of spells on him. The first spell felt like the same one from before, like a barrier but not quite. A second enveloped him in fire. After panicking for a heartbeat, he realized that not only was it not burning him, but he could barely feel the heat from her; it was the same fiery aura she had, but stronger. The third spell washed over him, and he suddenly stumbled, his body, armor, and weapons feeling nearly twice as heavy.

He gaped at her in disbelief and outrage, but she simply grinned, gave him a thumbs up, and jumped far back. For a moment, he stood dumbly. The giant rage demon was about to explode, and he was left only yards from it, covered in unfamiliar enchantments and too heavy to escape any meaningful distance.

There was only one thing he could do: he dropped to his knee, dug his shield’s bottom tip into the rocky ground against the demon, and trusted the stranger.

The demon flung its arms out and exploded in fire and light, cutting off the cries of the recruits far behind him.

Cullen barely felt it. He heard the deafening bang and saw the flash, but the force against his shield and the hot blast of air around it felt relatively paltry, as if he had been defending himself against someone opening the door of a particularly large oven. Not so much as a feather of his cloak had been singed. Peeking over his shield, he saw a large arc of snow and slush around him cleared away, some heavily burnt and warped swords and axes scattered around, but most importantly, that the rage demon was smaller, thinner, and cooler from expending so much energy.

This was his chance! Energized, he hauled himself up onto his feet. After taking a second to get a feel for his new weight, he raised his shield and charged. With how close he already was, the weakened demon barely had any time to react. It swung a thin fist at him, but confident in his enhanced weight and defense, he ignored it. Sure enough, the fist bounced off him weakly while he raised his shield just high enough to slam the demon in the face. With his entire enchanted weight behind the charge, he successfully wrenched the demon’s body from the ground, and it flew clear off the edge. He managed to stop himself, and he stood at the cliff to watch it fall.

Disappointingly, it didn’t fall far. It bounced off another rocky slope and tumbled into a pile, slowly melting a hole in the deep snow around it.

Something else caught his eye, though. It looked like a bulging leather bundle with various weapons sticking out, resting at the base of the cliff. As he blinked at it, he noticed the creature walk up to his side. She patted his shoulder, and he noticed the fire aura on her was gone. So were the enchantments on himself, for that matter. With a wave of her staff, the makeshift bundle floated up the cliff, and she easily grabbed a thick leather strap in her hand and hauled the enormous pack over her shoulder, flashing him a wide grin. Cullen stared. At least that answered the question of where all her equipment kept coming from. But honestly, who carried that many weapons? What, did she loot every corpse she came across?

A low hiss brought his attention back to the base of the cliff. As he expected, the rage demon was still alive. It slowly righted itself as its body regained heat and color. His lips tightened, and he turned to march back to the recruits. “The demon’s down for now, but we have to keep moving! Eustace, how’s—?”

He was cut off by a sharp _crack_ right behind him. He sighed. Of course. Looking back, he saw the creature had set the pack down a good distance away and was jamming her staff into the ground, where a crack, glowing with magic, was growing around her feet. The rock shifted, and a chunk of the cliff the size of a cow came loose and fell, the lizard-woman still calmly standing on it. It faintly glowed pink and maneuvered in midair just far enough to land squarely on top of the rage demon with a loud _smash_.

Cullen watched all of this with a tired expression. He just didn’t have it in him to be surprised by anything she did anymore.

“Never mind,” he muttered, turning back to the soldiers and stowing his sword and shield. “Eustace, your arm?” he asked as he approached.

It took a few moments before he got any response. “St…Still bleeding. Sir,” the man gasped, finally regaining his wits. He had removed the torn leather glove and was using it to staunch the wound.

“Leg’s still hurting like hell, Sir,” Mal hissed through grit teeth. By now, she was sitting back on solid ground, once again laying her broken leg straight. “It just keeps getting worse… I’m tempted to just hack the damn thing off.” He wasn’t surprised. With all the action she’d been forced through since breaking the limb, he didn’t expect it to ever heal properly. Not that he was going to tell her that, not here.

“I can carry Mal from here,” Yewen put in. “We’re not that far from the camp now, right?”

“We aren’t,” Cullen nodded. Before he could continue, all the recruits tensed up, and he didn’t have to guess why. He turned back to see the lizard-woman rising from a crouch on the remaining cliff edge, as if recovering from a jump. Because of course she could just jump up cliffs, why the hell not. She probably just climbed up with her hands the first time for fun.

Her expression, like a far-too-smug cat carrying a live mouse, faded as she looked at the injured soldiers. Grabbing her bundle again, she quickly closed the distance between them in a few leaps. The recruits started, but Cullen waved an arm at them. “At ease,” he ordered. “Let her do as she will.”

She set the bundle down with a muffled-but-still-noisy clatter and reached out for Eustace’s arm with her gauntlet. Paralyzed by fear, he didn’t resist as she grabbed it, pulled it close to her face, and removed the blood-soaked glove to observe the wound, muttering to herself. Cullen watched carefully, resting his hand on his sheathed sword’s pommel. If she noticed his caution, she showed no sign of minding. From what he could tell, it looked like the shade had managed to grab Eustace’s forearm and dug in its claws as he pulled away, leaving a row of long vertical gouges.

A thought occurred to him. “Yewen, when the shades attacked us, did the one you fought you injure you at all?” he asked abruptly, without taking his eyes off the scene.

The elf jumped, his attention torn away from the creature. “I… uh…” he stammered, thinking. “No. I mean… yes?”

“Which one is it?” he growled.

“I mean, I’m not bleeding or anything, but I thought I felt it scratch my arm, up here.” He patted his left triceps, between the elbow and the end of his mail shirt. Cullen let himself take a look, and saw the torn-up cloth of his sleeve at the same Yewen did. “It _did_ scratch me!” He tugged at the rips, showing pale lines on his skin. Indeed, the scratches had failed to draw any blood.

That confirmed Cullen’s thoughts: the defensive spell she casted didn’t deflect attacks like a barrier would. Instead, it enhanced the toughness of skin and flesh to a degree, protecting Yewen’s arm from the scratch and preventing Eustace’s entire hand from nearly being ripped off. He had seen it happen once before—shades could have terrifyingly strong grips. It likely affected worn equipment too, or she wouldn’t have bothered casting it on the heavily armored Cullen against the rage demon’s blast.

The lizard-woman was still focused on treating Eustace’s arm. To his surprise, she used a meager amount of fire magic to melt a clump of clean snow in her fist, and trickled the meltwater to wash out the wound. Cullen would’ve just rubbed the snow in there directly; really, he had expected her to use healing magic right away. To bother going through extra steps, she must’ve been trained as a medic.

Inevitably, his mind started drawing comparisons with another healing mage.

She telekinetically retrieved a health potion from her pack—Cullen was surprised she had found any potions intact in the wake of the temple’s explosion—popped it open, and handed it to Eustace. He was slow to accept it, as he was pointedly looking in the opposite direction, as if…

Oh. Right. She was still naked.

Rolling his eyes—it wasn’t as if there was anything to see—he crouched by her open pack and dug around. Sure enough, there were a few scavenged mage robes in varying states of disrepair bundled in there. He pulled out the thickest one and handed it over.

The moment she noticed, she did a double-take as if suddenly realizing how cold she was. Cullen could sympathize. She interrupted her magic healing to grab the robes and throw them on. They were over-sized, and the puffy fur lining made her head and unarmored hand look comically tiny, but she didn’t seem to mind, simply hunching over and breathing heavily on her exposed fingers.

Then he heard the muffled stomping of boots in snow from ahead. He looked just in time to see another soldier, one of his lieutenants, turn the corner of the mountain trail, coming from the direction of the camp.

“Commander! You’re alive!” he called out. He hurried over as more troops rounded the corner. Cullen counted seven others, including a templar and a mage. “We heard explosions and came to investigate! We didn’t expect to find you… Commander! Behind you!” he shouted, drawing his sword.

“Stand down!” he ordered firmly, raising a palm. “She’s an ally.”

He and the soldiers behind him stared as if Cullen had grown a second head. He couldn’t blame them. “She?” “The demon?” some muttered.

“She’s not a demon,” he sighed.

“The abomination, then!”

“She’s not an abomination.”

Cullen paused on hearing his own words. They had just come out automatically.

But it was true. After all of the oddities around her he had observed—the language barrier, the lack of usual physical traits, and far more—he had stopped thinking of her as an abomination a while ago. Her actually turning out to be an abomination would raise more questions than simply accepting her as a completely different race, like the Qunari.

He still had no idea who she was, where she came from, or what she was doing here in the wake of the Conclave. That bit couldn’t be a coincidence; for all he knew, she was actually responsible for the explosion. But—he looked up at the Breach, at the growing green scar in the sky—if she was offering aid, they couldn’t afford to turn it away.

As the soldiers mumbled amongst themselves, swords still unsheathed, he heard wood breaking and turned back to the woman in question. She had already finished with Eustace’s arm, leaving it tightly bandaged in scavenged cloth, and was snapping apart the remains of the wooden staff that he had broken. She was building a splint for Mal, he realized. She remained completely unperturbed by the arguing newcomers.

“The commander is correct.” The mage, a tired-looking middle-aged elf, was speaking. “Whatever that is, it’s not a being of the Fade.”

“But it’s got a staff! I saw it using magic!”

“That’s not what I said,” she sighed. “It’s a mage, yes, not a demon or abomination of any sort.”

“Why the hell should we listen to you?” One belligerent man shouted. “You’re probably in on it together!”

“That’s enough!” Cullen bellowed, breaking up the argument. “Bickering like this will get us nowhere! The… stranger has proven herself trustworthy enough. The explosions you heard came from a greater rage demon. She slew it and dozen other demons. If it weren’t for her, we’d likely be dead, and you would’ve run into a horde of demons instead of us.”

“But—!”

“This is not open for debate,” he stated, looking the arguing man in the eye. “She will be treated as an ally unless she gives us a reason to do otherwise. _Am I clear?_ ” The last demand was directed at everyone present, and he eventually got a “yessir” out of all of them. “Good,” he nodded. “Mage? Can you heal?”

“Ah, I’m a tad rusty, but yes. Sir.”

“See if you can help with Mal’s leg,” he ordered, gesturing behind him. The mage nodded and jogged past him. He turned and watched as she crouched next to the stranger over Mal’s now uncovered leg, still shooting her curious, nervous glances.

Cullen could still hear distrustful mutterings from the soldiers, but he still couldn’t really blame them. Anyone would have trouble putting any trust in this strange lizard-creature who showed up in the middle of perhaps the greatest magical disaster Thedas has ever seen. Cullen himself wouldn’t have.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he did so now. He kept thinking back to Anders, the mage-turned-abomination who, he now knew, ran a clinic that healed countless patients, saved the life of Hawke’s sister, and ultimately threw himself on Meredith’s sword to save Hawke herself. And yet, despite his good deeds, the same abomination still destroyed an entire Chantry, murdering everyone inside in cold blood, and kicked off the entire damned war. The stranger, like Anders, didn’t show him much sign of being an abomination, but…

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of her actually becoming possessed. _Maker, she’d be unstoppable._

He forced the lump in his throat down. He did owe her some trust, considering she did save his life. Well, it was more like she forcefully took his life into her own hands and didn’t let him down, what with her holding him at sword-point and leaving him in front of an exploding rage demon. He had to admit, that lackadaisical attitude from a mage with that much power and strength didn’t sit well with him.

Then, as he watched her finish up the splint around Mal’s leg, there was a twinge from the corner of his mind. He saw two figures standing around the stranger. One was elven, with pointed ears and a thin build, but she looked little like any other elf he’d seen. She was tall, standing over most men, and her eyes, hair, and skin were all a brilliant gold. She wore ornate mage robes, but easily rested a massive warhammer on her shoulder as her thin eyes peered down with an imperious air. The other, by contrast, was an ordinary middle-aged man of Tevinter descent. He wore finery like a noble, but slouched on a gaudy cane he knew not only hid a long blade, but was lined with lyrium, functioning as a mage staff. He smiled broadly, but there was a manic, unnerving gleam to his hazel eyes.

Cullen blinked. They were gone. He knew those people: companions of the Hero and the Champion respectively. But why? Why did they come to mind? What did the two of them have in common with the stranger? He swallowed, deep in thought.

“Cohmandor?” someone asked. Cullen snapped back to reality, and saw the stranger looking at him expectantly. She stood straight with her staff resting on the ground and the bulky bundle strapped to her back, ignoring the staring troops. Mal, once again, floated in the air beside her with a resigned look on her face.

He sighed. “ _Commander_ ,” he corrected, enunciating for the stranger’s benefit. He turned to the lieutenant. “Lead us back,” he ordered. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Hesitantly, he nodded and assembled everyone present into a single-file line, the stranger and the injured included. As they marched back along the thin mountain trail, Cullen wondered how the hell he was supposed to explain this to Cassandra and Leliana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how long I can keep this up. I'm going to have to replay Inquisition to get this stuff straight in my head.
> 
> There's quite a few displaced Dovahkiin in Thedas fics, but why just them? (Yes I know it's because far more people have played Skyrim than the earlier games shut up) Why not get the Nerevarine and the Hero of Kvatch involved? At the same time? (No I'm not crazy you're crazy) For the record, the Nerevarine will be the focus of this story. At the risk of spoiling, the Dragonborn won't show up until lategame, and the Hero will be content to sit on his ass most of the time. While I'm talking about who the main characters are going to be, the Inquisitor will be a male Lavellan, but his mage sister will be joining him.
> 
> I'm sure some of you have noticed the disrepancy between the Morrowind Argonian and her plantigrade anatomy, but there are reasons. She'll get to talk about her race when she finally figures out the local language.
> 
> And yes, she's OP, even without enchanted gear. She has to be. The heroes of the Elder Scrolls games are all literal godslayers by the ends of their journeys. Not that I'm just going to let any of them walk all over Corypheus, of course.


	2. Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric observes how the stranger makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Well, having begun my replay of Inquisition, I have now realized that, among other things, you start in the dungeon of the Chantry in Haven, not, as I remembered it, some temporary camp outside of Haven that was using a small mine as a dungeon. Whoops. Screw it, I have an AU tag, I'm using it.

“Curly, what the hell?”

“Curly”, or Commander Cullen Rutherford, sagged his shoulders. Even from behind and across the camp, Varric could _feel_ the heavy sigh, as if he had been dreading this. He turned around, his face tired, but impassive. “Varric,” he greeted stiffly.

“Yeah, nice to see you too, Curly,” Varric growled as he approached. “Great weather we’re having, aren’t we? Perhaps a little too green and demon-y for my liking, but on that topic…” He pointed at the creature currently dumping a pack stuffed with scavenged weapons and other equipment outside of the canopy they had designated as an armory. _“What the hell?”_

Cullen didn’t even look. “She’s not a demon…”

Varric threw his hands up. “Abomination! Same difference!”

“…And she’s not an abomination,” he continued, not missing a beat.

“It has _scales!”_

“And horns and claws and such and such. I’m not blind.”

“I dunno, it took you six years to notice Blondie’s ‘walking stick.’”

For the first time, Cullen showed some emotion by glaring at him. “You don’t get to start with that,” he growled. “By the time Meredith and I were certain Anders was an apostate, Hawke had gained enough political clout to indirectly shield him. Meanwhile, he revealed that he was an abomination to _you lot_ the day you met him, and you didn’t do a thing.”

Varric glared back, undeterred. “Yeah, and we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about not dicking around with abominations since then. I didn’t think _you’d_ need one!”

“Again, not an abomination.” Cullen sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I’ve fought against and with her, and have had ample opportunity to observe her. Believe me when I say that whatever she is, she has nothing to do with the Fade. Besides being a mage, anyways.”

“Well, this ought to be good,” Varric grumbled. “Well? What exactly have you ‘observed’?”

Cullen shook his head. “It’s a long story, and I’d rather tell it as few times as possible, so I’m waiting for Cassandra and Leliana to be present.”

“Well, you’ll be waiting for a while. They’ve been busy with the prisoner just about the entire time. Dunno why. From what I hear, the kid’s been out like a light since we locked him up. Reminds me, a couple other folks have shown up while you’ve been out. This bald elf mage showed up and said he knew stuff about the rifts, so the Seeker dragged him off to the prisoner. Something about the mark he’s got. And another elf…”

He was cut off by a couple of Cullen’s lieutenants suddenly approaching. The Commander was quickly drawn into a meeting regarding organization and logistics that Varric only mostly absorbed. Oh, and also that the lizard-creature wasn’t an abomination, but an ally, and that Cullen was taking responsibility for ‘her.’

Really, Varric had no idea how long this mess would hold. The Temple had exploded before the Conclave was officially supposed to start, but plenty of people had arrived ahead of schedule and had their timeliness rewarded with death. Tragically, most of the mages, templars, and Chantry members who actually sought peace and compromise had been particularly punctual today. With the cooler-headed, more optimistic portion of both the mages and templars abruptly gone, Varric expected the rest of them to waste no time pointing fingers and finishing the job of slaughtering each other. Fortunately, Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen managed to take control and get everyone to focus on the Breach. Mostly. Some of them had promptly fucked off. Now, their military was composed of the remains of two forces still technically at war, the results of early, quiet recruitment efforts for the Divine’s planned Inquisition, the militia the village of Haven had built up in preparation for the Conclave, just in case, and very fresh recruits who saw the Breach and had the balls to volunteer. Not the most stable not-even-an-army.

Cullen’s not-abomination was just adding to the smoking powder keg. Varric watched the creature carefully as it crouched over its spoils, sorting and laying everything out by type and quality with a blatant display of telekinetic magic. It seemed completely at ease, despite all the hostile, staring troops surrounding it. Too at ease. The man currently assigned quartermaster—personally, Varric thought he was a poor fit. They’d have to replace the guy—shook in his boots as the creature suddenly stood up and walked past him, despite it completely ignoring him. It actually seemed to be rummaging through the armory, picking out clothes and bits of armor. When one man—not the quartermaster, Varric noted—pointed this out to Cullen, he just shrugged and allowed it.

Then, in a flurry of movement, it shucked its gauntlet and yanked its robe over its head.

“Oh.” Varric blinked. “That’s why you keep calling it ‘she.’”

Cullen just squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose while the camp around them was briefly thrown into chaos. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Varric tilted his head as she rapidly put on the gear she had picked out: practical, thick woolen coat and pants with a hole ripped for her thick tail, strips of fur around openings, several cords and belts tying the loose outfit snug (also making her more obviously a “she”), leather wrappings around most of her feet instead of proper boots, hardened leather pads over her knees and elbows, and finally, a bulky obsidian gauntlet, heavier and better-fitting than the last one, that covered her right hand and forearm. She wasn’t about to win any fashion contests, but somehow, Varric doubted the lizard-woman cared. As soon as she was done, she strapped a metal staff to her back, strode through the bug-eyed crowd right up to Cullen with a toothy grin, and beat her chest in a sloppy salute.

Cullen hadn’t moved his hand from his nose. “Would it have killed you to find somewhere private for that?” he grumbled.

She only burst out into rasping laughter, slapping her knee. Some of the troops jumped at the sudden outburst, and Varric, despite himself, chuckled.

To hell with it. Even if the ex-templar happened to be mistaken about her not being an abomination, being an ass wouldn’t help anyone. “You certainly know how to make an impression, stranger,” he said out loud, approaching her. “Varric Tethras, professional liar, at your service.” He held out his left hand for a shake, to match her bare hand.

She took it and shook with a firm, friendly grip, even as she tilted her head at him, peering at him the same way he’d seen her do to the few other dwarves around the camp—not too unusual, wouldn’t be the first time he was some yokel’s introduction to dwarves. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but her scales were smooth, fine, and warm, and her claws were dull.

Then she babbled incomprehensibly at him in her raspy voice, finishing with one word he understood: “stranger.”

At Varric’s surprised expression, Cullen explained, “She doesn’t know Common, and whatever language she does speak, I’ve never heard it before. One of the reasons I’m sure she’s not an abomination, by the way.”

“Huh.” He watched as she turned and wandered off across the busy camp, taking in her surroundings. He and Cullen followed her, Cullen out of responsibility, and him out of curiosity. “So if you can’t talk to each other, how the hell did you get her to come with you here?” he asked.

Cullen shrugged. “It was actually her idea,” he said. “She’s been surprisingly easy to communicate with.”

“Yeah? So what’s her name?”

He froze up. “Uh… That, ah, never really came up,” he muttered, scratching his neck.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Of course not. So what sorts of engaging conversations _have_ you had?” he asked dryly. The stranger’s attention had been caught by the command tent, or rather, the maps laid out on the table in the command tent. Maybe she—and by extension, they—would learn something useful.

Cullen sighed. “It’s part of the long story,” he said, watching her run into the spacious, open tent and shuffle through the maps while frightened clerks scurried out of her way. “To sum it up, my patrol attacked her, she fought us off easily while unarmed, demons attacked all of us, she protected us and killed the demons, she administered first aid to the wounded, and she followed us here, effectively carrying one of the recruits.”

 _“Huh.”_ Varric turned to look at him. The Commander’s face remained tired and impassive throughout the recounting. He had several more questions, but he settled for pointing out “That didn’t really answer my question.”

Before Cullen could respond, the stranger rushed back to them, holding up a large, plain map of all of known Thedas. She babbled at them, gesturing at their surroundings and then at the map with her free hand.

After a moment, Cullen placed his finger on the map. “We are here, near the village of Haven,” he answered the implicit question. “These are the Frostback Mountains, which form the border between the Kingdom of Ferelden and the Orlesian Empire,” he continued, outlining each location and enunciating the names. She tilted her head, scanning the areas intently.

So that was what Cullen meant, Varric thought. Despite her animalistic face, she was incredibly expressive, and her body language was as clear as day. “What about you?” he asked, pointing at her and at the map. Might as well take a page from her book and express himself nonverbally as well as verbally. “Where are you from?”

She just shrugged. She circled her hand vaguely around the entire continent and shook her head.

“Shit, nowhere on Thedas?” Varric asked, leaning back. “You don’t recognize any of it?” Actually, he wasn’t sure why that was surprising. If there was a race of lizard people living anywhere on Thedas, he’d at least have heard rumors of them. “What about West?” he asked, pointing where the land continued off the edge of the drawn map.

She shook her head again. She paused, tilting her head in thought, before rushing back to the table. He and Cullen followed, watching as she found a blank parchment and a charcoal and started drawing what they could only assume was her homeland.

Well, that answered why she didn’t think she was from the West: she was from an island. “Tamriel,” she declared, once she had finished outlining a landmass and a few large islands. Varric had no idea how accurate it was, but she _did_ spend a lot of time and effort trying to get some of the coastlines just right, comically sticking her tongue out. She looked at them expectantly, but nothing about her map was familiar to either of them.

She slumped, sighed, and looked back at her map. She idly dragged a claw in a line between her map and the map of Thedas, muttering something.

“Yeah, that _is_ quite a long trip,” Varric noted, guessing her thoughts. “Not a whole lot of ferries taking passengers to the Frostbacks.”

“And especially not right by the Temple of Sacred Ashes around the time it exploded,” Cullen added, speaking more to Varric than to the stranger. He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “I get the sense that she doesn’t fully understand our situation, and that she doesn’t have any more clue what she’s doing here than we do, which suggests a third party brought her here abruptly, and I’m not sure I want to imagine what kind of party could possibly take _her_ off-guard.

“Or she could just be a good liar,” he sighed.

“It’s a possibility, Curly,” Varric nodded sagely. “I maybe something of a chronic bullshitter myself, but I haven’t had the best luck spotting others.” He paused. “Come to think of it, they must have humans and elves there, too,” he realized, looking at her map.

Cullen looked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been watching her watching us. Us dwarves surprised her in a way that no one else did. …Has she seen those Valo-Kas guys?”

“The Qunari mercenaries? I thought they were all… you know… at the Conclave.”

“I know at least one of them’s still milling around. She seemed pissed, though that’s nothing unusual, considering.”

“Huh. Well anyways, I had an elf in my patrol when we met, but no dwarves. That could’ve been her first meeting with humans and elves.”

“But was she _surprised_ by any of you?” Varric asked.

After a pause, Cullen shook his head. “No, she was not,” he admitted. “So whatever she is, she’s familiar with men and elves, but not dwarves. Unless, again, she’s a really good liar.”

“…You know, we could try _asking_ her.”

“WHAT IN ANDRASTE'S NAME IS THAT THING?”

“Ah, Maker’s ass, not this sod,” Varric groaned, palming his face. Cullen mirrored him.

“Commander Rutherford! The rumors are true? You’ve brought an abomination right to us?” Chancellor Roderick went on, stomping closer to the tent.

“I am going to make you a sign,” Cullen grumbled to the unperturbed stranger. “It will say ‘I am not an abomination’ in nice, bold letters. Maybe add ‘Have any mage or templar check,’ or perhaps I’ll just sign it if that’s too wordy?” he asked Varric.

Varric chuckled. “That was some top-notch sarcasm, Curly. Have you been taking lessons?”

“Who says that was sarcasm?” he dead-panned. “I hold you and Hawke entirely responsible, mind.”

_“Are you listening to me?”_

“Then we ought to charge you for all the classes.”

“Please. If I ever had taken official classes from you, I would’ve already pointed out that you only started getting friendly with the stranger _after_ she stripped in front of you.”

 _“HA!”_ Ok, that was good, worth a knee slap.

“Commander. _Explain.”_

Varric jumped and spun around. “Andraste’s tits, Seeker!” he gasped. “Where’d you learn to sneak like that?”

Cassandra only spared him a brief scowl, but Cullen silently gestured at Leliana, who had also appeared in the tent. Curly was on a roll today!

“Lady Cassandra,” Cullen greeted before she could complain, standing straight. “It’s a long story, but this stranger is an ally. I don’t know what she is beyond her not being any sort of demon or abomination, but she has displayed a willingness to help us against the Breach, and I say we let her.” The stranger in question had looked up from doodling around her map, peering at the women with more attention than she had given any other soldier at the camp.

“Are you mad?” the Chancellor spat. “That monster needs to be put down right away! I order you to slay it!” he said, pointed at both Cullen and Cassandra. The stranger responded by pointedly _not_ looking at him, in fact picking a nostril in naked contempt. Oh, Varric kept liking her more and more.

“Once again, Chancellor, we do not take orders from you,” Cassandra stated before facing Cullen. “I trust you, Commander, but you are going to have explain clearly why we should trust… her. Especially since she could easily be related to the Breach.”

“Does that mean the poor kid you got in the dungeon’s off the hook?” Varric asked sardonically.

Cassandra gave him another customary glare. “He remains our primary suspect,” she hissed. “He is the only survivor of the Conclave, and the Mark on his hand is connected to the Breach.”

“Which is why he must promptly be brought to Val Royeaux for his execution!” the Chancellor added.

“Have you learned anything from him?” Cullen asked, completely ignoring him.

“Nothing useful,” she admitted. “He still hasn’t regained consciousness. We know he is a Dalish hunter of clan Lavellan, from the Free Marches. The apostate, Solas, has confirmed a link between the mark and the Breach.”

Cullen frowned. “Varric mentioned an elven mage. Is that Solas? Where is he now?”

“He is with the prisoner,” Leliana answered. “Simply put, the mark is killing the prisoner. Solas is currently working to heal him and prevent further damage, or at least, to keep him alive. As for Solas himself, he is an apostate who, as far as I can tell, has lived far from the Circles, but is not of any Dalish clan. He has much experience with the Fade, and has volunteered his knowledge and magic.”

“Creepy Fade expert who happened to be nearby when all this shit went down, yeah? Sounds like you’ve got another suspect, Seeker,” Varric pointed out ruefully.

“You are not wrong,” Cassandra admitted, “but his knowledge has been invaluable, and he has come to us willingly. Thus, I am giving him a chance, though we will be watching him carefully.”

“And it’s not at all far-fetched that even a hedge mage would be interested in the outcome of the Conclave,” Leliana added.

“Sounds like a similar situation to the stranger’s,” Cullen said pointedly, gesturing at the still-doodling, still-watching lizard-woman.

After a moment, Cassandra sighed and nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I will listen. Cullen?”

“Unbelievable,” the Chancellor grumbled, stomping away. “That thing is _right there_ , and you’re all entertaining the notion…” Everyone happily ignored him as Cullen began his tale.

He was hardly the best storyteller—too plain descriptions, no embellishments—but Varric found it fascinating nonetheless. He put a lot of emphasis on the facts that the stranger’s levitation spell was only meant to disable them, and that once she was unburdened of her staff and robes, Cullen couldn’t even scratch her.

“So her getup isn’t just a fashion statement?” Varric asked, gesturing at her general lack of armor. “That’s how she fights?”

“So it would seem,” he nodded.

“I’ll have to see her fight for myself,” Leliana mused. “Is there anyone you would say _could_ best her in single combat?”

Cullen hummed thoughtfully. “Hawke, with a strong maybe. Honestly, if we’re coming up with counter-strategies, I would just use numbers against her.”

“Numbers apparently didn’t matter when you pinned her against a recruit,” Varric said.

“An untrained teenager,” Cullen countered. “The four of us could take her, should her magic be neutralized. She’s not invincible—she has scars. I didn’t look too closely, but I have seen a nasty arrow wound in her chest, around here,” he said, drawing a small circle on his breastplate, under his right collarbone.

Then the stranger helpfully contributed to the discussion by pulling her coat open, enough to show the very same scar Cullen mentioned. And more.

“Maker, cover yourself up!” Cassandra hissed, blushing.

“It’s not as if there’s much to see,” Cullen muttered into his open palm as the cackling lizard-woman obeyed. “That may be why she has no shame.”

“So…” Varric drawled, “any idea why she would have tits without teats?” All the humans looked at him flatly. “Hey, I’m just asking.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Cullen said, as dry as a desert. “You can teach her Common, and then _you_ can ask _her.”_

“How did she know you were talking about her scar if she doesn’t know the trade tongue?” Cassandra asked, shooting accusing glares.

“She’s observant and intelligent,” Cullen answered with a shrug. “She’s likely aware enough of her own distinctive scar to make the connection when I pointed at it.” He continued his story: she held a sword to his face, just to make a point, but didn’t hesitate to protect him and his squad from attacking demons, taking nearly all of them on by herself.

“You’re shitting me,” Varric gasped. “She can _fly?_ If she can fly, why the hell would she ever walk anywhere?”

“If I had to guess, she finds it too slow,” he said. He paused, tilting his head. “Come to think of it, I think it’s the same levitation spell she used on us. When I was affected, I could move around on my own, but so slowly that it didn’t matter. She moved faster when she cast it on herself, but I imagine she could _crawl_ faster.”

“Ah, you’re killing my dreams here, Curly,” Varric sighed. He looked over at the stranger. “Can you do it now?” he asked, trying to sign by raising his hand. “Can you fly?” Cassandra and Leliana watched with interest.

She only tilted her head at his gesturing. Eventually, after he mimed reaching for a staff on his back, and she seemed to understand. She reached back and placed her hand on her staff, a nimbus of purple magic washed over her, and she drifted off the ground, feet dangling loosely. Everyone at the table, sans Cullen, watched with wide eyes, along with a few nearby servants and soldiers in view of the open tent. There wasn’t much room under the tent, but she moved in a small circle and actually curled into a slow backflip before the aura disappeared. She then dropped out of the air and landed on her feet daintily.

“Ha! Bravo!” Varric applauded, but he was the only one. She seemed appreciative anyways, giving him an exaggerated bow, funny wrist twirling and all. She just kept getting better and better!

Cullen just rolled his eyes and continued his story, describing even more strange, but useful talents. She granted a brief barrier that reflected fireballs, she telekinetically wielded over half a dozen weapons at once, and leapt clear over a towering rage demon while carrying him, a grown man in plate armor. (No wonder she didn’t bother flying everywhere—she didn’t need magic to do so!) He knew Cullen turned out all right, so he allowed himself a chuckle at the image of the Commander standing dumbly in front of an exploding rage demon.

Cassandra, of course, didn’t see the humor in it. “And you survived?” she asked after a brief glare at Varric.

Oh, she made it too easy. “I should hope so,” Varric threw in, grinning widely. “It would be really embarrassing to only now figure out that we’ve been listening to a corpse this entire time.”

She growled at him, but Cullen cut her off. “More than survived. Between all her spells, I barely felt the explosion. Those spells only lasted a short time, but seeing as how she can cast these kinds of support spells on multiple other people easily, her utility on any battlefield is unmatched,” he said earnestly.

“But why?” Cassandra asked sharply. “She could’ve easily gotten you out of the way, and even enchant herself, so why enchant _you_ and put you at risk?”

Cullen didn’t answer for a moment. He took a deep breath, rocking on his feet, and looked at the stranger, who had returned to doodling around her map. “I can’t say for sure,” he finally said. “She’s confident enough in her magic that I don’t believe risk was a conscious issue to her. Maybe she picked me because I already had a shield for cover and to bash the demon off the cliff after. Maybe she wanted to make the point that my life was in her hands. Maybe she thought it’d be funny.” He grumbled the last one. “If she ever does learn Common, I’ll ask her myself. But for now, I think I’ll pass on speculation.”

Cassandra grunted, but she didn’t argue, letting him continue. After he and the stranger killed the rage demon, she quickly performed first aid on the injured. “She’s a lousy healer,” Cullen mused out loud.

Everyone stared at him. “Wait, what?” Varric asked.

“Weren’t you just telling us you were impressed by her medic training?” Leliana elaborated.

“The physical treatment, yes,” he nodded, “but I get the feeling she’s only gotten so good at it because of how little talent she has in healing magic. She only briefly used magic while treating the patients, and the few times she cast healing spells in battle, the effects were minor. Better than nothing, but minor.” He straightened up, crossing his arms behind his back. “Even without magic, I would hate to see her medical expertise go to waste. I say we have her assist our healer between deployments.”

“You want to bring her onto the battlefield,” Cassandra stated, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, yes,” Cullen said as if that should’ve been obvious. “I’ve spent the last, what, ten minutes telling you what an asset she is, haven’t I?”

“You trust her,” Leliana observed, almost disbelievingly. “You honestly trust her.”

Cullen looked down for a few moments before meeting her eyes. “She protected and healed my recruits. I trust her on the battlefield,” he said.

Everyone else exchanged looks. Cullen wasn’t good at hiding his feelings; his internal conflict was plain for all to see.

Cassandra sighed, leaning against the central tent post. “I am not sure,” she sighed. “The elven apostate is one thing, but we know absolutely nothing about _her_. She has been cooperative so far, but how can we know how she thinks, how she values trust?”

“Actually,” Leliana cut in before Cullen could argue, “I _do_ have an idea of what she is.”

 _“You do?”_ Wow. That was weird. All three of them spoke at once. The stranger’s attention, naturally, had been caught as well.

Leliana looked the lizard-woman in the eye as she continued. “You all know of the Golden Elf, who, like me, was a companion of the Wardens on their quest to stop the Fifth Blight.”

Varric’s eyes widened, not noticing Cullen twitch. “Hang on, are you saying…?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “The Golden Elf, Tessariel, or Tess to her friends, claimed to be from a faraway land inhabited by not just by multiple races of men and elves, but of beastfolk. She called it Tamriel.”

At that word, the stranger stood up straight, hands on the table, her slit pupils wide open. The rest of them listened intently as well.

Leliana went on, “She called herself a High Elf, or, as she preferred, Altmer, but she spoke little of her own people. She did, however, speak at great lengths of the fair, valorous Nords; the charismatic Imperials; the grim, aloof Dunmer; the crafty, cat-like Khajit; and…” She paused dramatically, watching the stranger’s eyes light up at each strange name. “…the hardy, reptilian Argonians, or Saxhleel.”

The stranger sprang forward, grabbing Leliana’s shoulders and babbling excitedly, and then froze. It was clear why: the Nightingale was holding a thin dagger at her neck.

“Do not mistake my knowledge for trust, stranger,” she hissed. The Argonian slowly removed her hands and held them up, backing away, her eyes wide. “If Cullen vouches for you, then I will not stop him from using you as he sees fit, but you’ll find _my_ trust much more difficult to earn.” Once she finally lowered the dagger, the stranger sagged like a kicked puppy, and she dejectedly shuffled outside the tent.

“That was cold, Nightingale,” Varric commented. She ignored him, slipping the dagger back into whatever pocket she drew it from.

“Well,” Cassandra sighed, “if you are also willing to give her a chance, then so will I. However, I think it would be best if you told us everything you know about her land and her people.”

Leliana nodded. “If we have time. We have an army to run. We’ve spent long enough discussing one stranger.”

Cassandra and Cullen both grunted in a agreement, when suddenly, the stranger shouted something from outside the tent. She was standing on her tiptoes, staring at something in the distance.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, walking to her side with the others following. Instead of responding, she sprang up on top of the command tent and perched on the center post like a cat. Her purple eyes flashed with a pink glow.

“Huh, did you know her eyes could do that, Curly?” Varric asked.

“I’ve seen it a couple times, while we were marching back here,” he answered. “I suspect it’s some sort of searching spell, but I don’t know what she’s searching _for.”_

“She’s looking near the dungeon entrance,” Leliana noted, peering in the same direction. “Oh, don’t tell me…”

The stranger abruptly jumped down from the tent and, while crouching, placed a hand on her stowed staff. Magic flowed through her, her feet glowed purple, and then she sprang into the air like a frog, high and fast enough to nearly cross the entire camp.

Everyone’s jaws dropped, except for Cullen, who was already jogging after her. “Don’t go running off on your own, dammit!” he shouted irritably. Eventually, they followed him, though Varric doubled back to grab her map, fold it up, and tuck it in a pocket.

There were shouts of alarm from the startled soldiers she had passed over, but more pressing was the feminine scream and the fireball shooting into the air from ahead. They turned the last row of tents to find her standing on a stretch of wet mud, in front a young Dalish elf aggressively brandishing a wooden staff.

“Ah, hell,” Varric groaned. “I thought you locked her up?” The elf’s robes were filthy, but recognizably those of a Dalish First, and she had metal shackles on her bare right foot and both arms, all dangling bits of blasted chains. She snarled and planted her staff in the ground in a motion familiar to Varric. “Roots! Look out below!” he shouted.

He needn’t have bothered—the stranger backflipped clear of the growing roots the moment she felt the mud at her feet bulging. She bounced on her hands and easily landed on her feet. With a field of writhing roots between her and the creature, the elf turned to look at the newcomers. “Consorting with demons?” she cried. “You _shem_ are all mad!”

“She’s not a demon,” Cullen grumbled automatically, before asking, “Who is that?”

“She claims to be the prisoner’s sister,” Leliana answered, a bow and arrow in her hands. “We caught her snooping around shortly after your patrol left. This isn’t the first time she has attempted to break him out.”

“But it will be the last!” she shouted. “We’re getting out of here!” She swung her staff around, gathering flames…

And then the Argonian grabbed the staff’s head, her armored hand glowing pink and snuffing out the fire. “What?” she gasped, seeing the stranger right behind her. Her unarmored arm wrapped around her midsection, there was a blur of motion, and then the elf was slammed face-first into the mud, with the stranger casually sitting on her back and holding her staff. “Aargh!” she screamed as she pulled her head up and thrashed her free limbs. “Get off me, _natha!_ ”

The stranger just gave a cheerful, monosyllabic reply. The elf snarled and clutched at the air with her free hand. Fire starting growing from her bare palm, but again, the stranger’s gauntleted fingers wrapped around the elf’s and with another pink flash, the flames were snuffed out. No, actually, they were sucked up, Varric realized. The stranger was absorbing her magic!

“How did she escape?” Cassandra demanded at the closest soldiers while still keeping an eye on both mages. She scoffed when they could only shrug in confusion.

“You didn’t put her in the dungeon too?” Cullen asked.

“Considering her goal was to escape with her brother, we felt it unwise to leave her near him,” Leliana pointed out.

“Fair.”

Cassandra stomped over to the pinned elf and glared down at her. The stranger, helpfully, grabbed the back of her head and forced her to meet the Seeker’s eyes. “Tell us what the two of you were doing here,” she growled.

 _“Fen’Harel ver na!”_ she hissed defiantly.

“A thousand dead, and your brother is the only survivor!” she pressed, crouching. “What has he wrought? Explain yourselves!”

_“Dhava ‘ma masa, shem!”_

“Really, Seeker,” Varric sighed, ambling over. “You’re not going to get any different answers by asking the same questions as last time.”

“How did you know?” Cassandra snapped, looking at him sharply. “You weren’t present then!”

“You’re just that predictable. You know, you _could_ try playing nice,” he offered, ignoring her outraged sputtering. “Here, like this.” He knelt down next to the mud-covered elf. “Hey, if you have _any_ idea how your brother could’ve survived an explosion that blew up a mountain and, you know, made _that_ ”—he gestured at the Breach—“that would be _very_ helpful. It might get him off the hook, too.”

 _“Fen’harel pala masa_ to death, dwarf!”

“Hey, see? I got her to use some Common!” he said brightly.

Before anyone could say anything else, the stranger scoffed and rolled her eyes. She abruptly stood up, dragged the elf to her feet, and shoved her away.

“What are you…?” Cassandra snapped, stepping forward, but Varric held an arm out to stop her. “You dare…!”

“Settle down, Lady Cassandra,” Cullen said, walking up to them. “Let’s see how she handles this.”

The elf blinked at the lizard-woman calmly standing across from her, still holding her staff along with the one already on her back. Then, she lunged for the staff. The stranger twisted out of her away and smacked it across her back, throwing her into the mud again. As she sputtered and stumbled back to her feet, the stranger made no move to stop her. The elf hesitated, and this time, slapped a palm into the mud, sprouting a small patch of brambles at her opponent’s feet. Right as the stranger hopped away, she charged with a yell, only for the stranger to vault on the staff, somersault through the air, plant her feet on the elf’s shoulders, and kick her back to the ground, just missing her own brambles.

“Well, this is familiar,” Cullen grumbled quietly as the struggle continued in a similar fashion.

“This is how she got to you?” Varric smirked. “The ’ol beat-your-ass-until-you’re-too-tired-to-keep-fighting method of diplomacy? I can see the merits.”

“Cullen, please tell me _that_ isn’t why you trust her,” Cassandra groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Ok,” was his only reply. Varric just _had_ to laugh at that.

By now, the elf was bruised and covered in from head to toe in mud, and she seemed to be weighing her options. She glanced over towards the dungeons and saw there was still a gap in the loose ring of onlookers gathering around them. Her eyes darted at the stranger, and back to the opening, and then she bolted. The nearest troops realized what she was doing and tried to close the gap, but she was quicker than any of them.

Still not quick enough, though. The stranger’s hands clamped over her robes and her upper arm, swung her around, and hurled her screaming all the way back into the same mudpit. “Damn you!” she roared, forcing herself up onto all-fours, then her knees, then her feet. The stranger only grinned smugly at her. “Don’t you mock me, _natha!”_ She pointed at her stolen weapon. “If I had my staff, I’d wipe that damn grin from…” She was cut off when the staff was flung at her. Her arms went to catch it, but fumbled for an entire second before she actually got a grip on it. After a moment, she looked up at the stranger, who now wielded her own staff and a wider grin. She gulped.

Cassandra cursed. “Has she lost her mind?” she hissed. “Call this madness off, Commander!”

Cullen shook his head. “No. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows exactly where to hit to do the most damage.”

She looked at him. “And where is that?”

“Her pride.”

Ok, that line may have been overdone and corny as hell, but it worked. If Varric survived long enough to write a book about this, that was going in.

The elf, meanwhile, heard them. She turned back to shoot Cullen a fierce glare before facing her opponent and leveling her staff, grim determination etched on her face. “Clear out!” Cullen called out to the surrounding crowd. “This is a mage duel! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your distance!” They obeyed, scrambling away. The few templars present spaced themselves out around the clearing. This being at the very edge of the camp, there was plenty of room for the duel.

The elf moved first, flicking her staff to-and-fro to summon a series of small fireballs. The stranger turned ninety degrees and dodged every single one by casually walking in straight line, occasionally leaning backwards or forwards just far enough to avoid one aimed at her head or chest. Hawke would be envious of her style, Varric thought. The elf snarled, twisted her staff in more complex maneuvers, and started shooting multiple, smaller fireballs with each swing. With missiles curving at her from multiple directions, the stranger now actually had to put some effort into dodging by darting, weaving, and spinning about. But she still managed.

“How! Long! Are you! Going! To Keep! _Dodging?”_ the elf screamed between firebolts, her face red.

Apparently, that was the signal the stranger had been waiting for, because the next instant, she twirled her staff in one hand and hit one of the fireballs with the head. There was a pink flash, and the fireball reversed its direction and streaked back at the elf, who squeaked and ducked it. Then she gasped and had to dive out of the way of the three other firebolts the stranger’s spinning staff batted back before the barrage had ended.

Shaking in fury, the elf once again pulled herself out of the mud. “Do you think this is funny, _natha?_ ” she hissed, panting heavily. The stranger shrugged ruefully. She grit her teeth. “Then laugh at _this!”_ She clutched her staff with both hands and held it vertically over her head, an orb of fire much larger than the previous ones growing at the end. With a cry of exertion, she swung her staff down and launched the fireball.

The stranger, instead of dodging, had cocked her armored fist back. In her other hand, her staff pulsed with magic, and fire engulfed her, focusing on the gauntlet. As the fireball flew at her, she roared, swung her burning fist, and punched it dead-on. Many of the spectators had to shield their eyes from the explosion, but when the flames died down, the Argonian stood with her fist still extended, unharmed except for some smoking fur and fabric. The elf, along with everyone else watching, stared in disbelief.

Scratch that, Hawke would absolutely _shit_ herself with envy.

Then Cullen ruined the moment. “Did you really have to show off like that?” he called in irritation. “I hope you don’t expect us to replace your equipment every time you damage it pulling some dumb stunt!”

Varric and several others stared at _him_ in disbelief. “Really, Curly? You’re really concerned about _that_ right now?”

“Of course I am,” he said defensively. “Do I have to remind you how many perfectly good weapons she ruined taking down the rage demon? Swords have to come from _somewhere_ , you know!”

Any further ranting was cut off when the elf screamed in incoherent fury, and columns of roaring flame burst from the ground and twisted around her.

“Maker, what is she doing?” Cullen gasped, shielding his face from the wave of heat. “She’s not calling a rage demon, is she?”

“No,” Cassandra answered, gritting her teeth. “It’s merely a powerful fire spell— _too_ powerful for her. She won't be able to control it!” she realized, drawing her sword. “Stop her!”

“I think the stranger’s already on it,” Varric said, pointing.

The stranger was holding her staff up, and veritable mountain of snow grew behind her. Tons of snow, slush, and mud were drawn into it from every direction, all of it glowing pink with her magic. Then she swung her staff, and the entire mound rushed forwards, parting around her.

Varric was reminded of a memory: he was at a beach on a warm day for a business meeting, idly watching some small human child who had clearly never seen the ocean up close before. He stood on the edge of a beach, gleefully chasing after and fleeing from the small waves lapping at the cost, until a larger wave, taller than him, suddenly smashed into him and threw him into the sand, at which point he had run off crying for Mommy.

The rage in the elf’s eyes died out as the wave of dirty snow towered over her. The wall easily snuffed out her billowing flames, smashed into her, and carried on. Varric, Cullen, and Cassandra all had to run out of the way as the wave crashed down, scattering slush everywhere. When everything settled, the elf was once again left lying in the mud. She stared blankly at the sky, blinking slowly.

Everything was silent except for stranger’s sloshing footsteps as she casually walked up to the elf and bent over. She asked a short question in her strange language.

The elf kept staring for several seconds. Then, she sniffled. “Gethren…” she murmured weakly. She held an arm up to hide her watering eyes.

After giving her a few more seconds, the stranger poked her with a claw. The elf glared at her with red eyes, but the stranger then pointed to the side. The elf followed her finger to see Leliana, standing on a boulder near the cliff, her fully-drawn bow aimed steadily. She had been there the entire duel, and Varric hadn’t even noticed! The message was clear: even if the elf had won, all she would’ve earned was an arrow.

The elf slumped with a tired whine, but the stranger merely held out an open hand. After another long pause, the elf took it, and was pulled out of the snow to her feet. Only then did Leliana lower the bow. She jumped down from the boulder, stowing her weapon, and approached the mages. The elf glared sullenly but didn’t try to escape the stranger’s unarmored hand resting on her shoulder.

“The Breach is a threat to us all, and it is still growing,” Leliana stated quietly. “We need a way to seal it, or even stop it, but the only clue we have is on your brother’s hand. We need him, and we need him _alive.”_

The elf kept glaring, but eventually she looked over at the Breach, towards the dungeon, and finally the ground with a sigh. “Fine,” she said thickly. “I’ll do what I can to help.” Then she looked up again with a fierce glow in her eyes. “But first, I want to see him. And know that should he die, I swear to you, _Fen’harel himself shall cower before my wrath.”_

Leliana nodded, taking the threat in stride. She bent over and deftly unlocked each shackle, taking them before walking away. The stranger, with a satisfied smirk, patted her shoulder. Finally, quiet muttering broke the deafening silence.

Cassandra sighed and turned to Cullen. “Well, it seems that your stranger has taken responsibility for the apostate, which makes her _also_ your responsibility.”

“Oh, _joy,”_ he groaned, palming his face. Then he looked around at the murmuring crowd. “Well? What are you all standing around for?”

Varric took a second to observe the dispersing crowd’s mood. As to be expected, it was mixed. Some, particularly mages and the young, stared at the stranger in starry-eyed awe, but far more were dark with suspicion or terror or both. Shaking his head, he walked up to the mages. “Hell of a show you put on,” he said cheerfully. “So, Firebrand, you got a name?”

The elf, unsurprisingly, glared at him despite her sniffles, but eventually answered, “Nesianna.” She looked up at the stranger. “So… what _are_ you, exactly?”

“Stranger,” she stated simply.

“She’s an Argonian,” Varric explained. “We don’t actually know much about what that is, but we do know that she’s from the same land as the Golden Elf.”

Her eyes bugged out. “The Golden… really?”

“Really,” he nodded. “But on that topic, what _is_ your name?” he asked.

“Stranger,” she repeated.

“No, your _name,”_ Varric insisted. “Look, I’m _Varric_ ,” he stressed, gesturing at himself. “She’s Nesianna. He’s Cullen.” He pointed out each. “Who are _you?”_

“Stranger!” she said again, indignantly.

“Maker’s balls,” Varric groaned, stroking his forehead. He was saved by Cassandra walking by, ordering Nesianna to follow her. She and the stranger both obeyed. Varric watched them head towards the dungeon, shaking his head.

Well, this was interesting. This was the beginning of a _story_. He reached into his pocket, pulled out her map, and unfolded it. His eyes went over the sketches surrounding the continent: a city, contained by a perfectly circular wall, with an enormous tower jutting from the center; tiered pyramids arranged in a lake, connected by bridges; organic, fungus-like buildings with circular doors and precarious skywalks; a hall lined with pipes and giant gears; an elf, one half of him shaded, floating with his legs crossed…

This was the beginning of a story, and she had so many more to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made use of FenxShiral's excellent Project Elvhen to supply Nesianna's vocabulary.
> 
> While I'm giving credit, I might as well mention a few of my inspirations: Carapatzin's Tale of Two Lavellans, l8rose's Smith From Another Land, and GraphiteGirl's The Half-Life of Element Zero.
> 
> Who will the stranger beat up and forcefully befriend next? What is this, a shounen anime?


	3. Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra is forced to babysit.

“Drop the sword! _Now!”_

“Ok! Ok!” the prisoner cried, immediately dropping the claymore onto the ice with a noisy clatter and holding his hands up. “I’m sorry! There was a demon and it was horrible and rotten and…”

Cassandra internally groaned at his babbling. From the way the apostate, Nesianna, talked about her brother, one would think him made of fine porcelain. The reason why was clear: the boy—actually the elder sibling, amazingly—seemed to fold like a house of cards under the slightest bit of pressure. Just about the first thing he did on regaining consciousness was blubber like a fish when told how many people had died at the Conclave. Cassandra’s gut twisted with unpleasant feelings regarding him: mounting doubt that he could be involved in a mean-spirited prank, much less the Breach, guilt for contributing to his child-like distress, fear that he would bolt at the first opportunity…

…And then this.

She held up a hand to cut him off. “No, you should keep it,” she sighed. “I cannot protect you from every demon we will face. You must be able to defend yourself.”

He blinked at her. “Oh. Um… Are you sure?” he asked, bending down to grab the sword. “You’re a pretty good fighter… much better than me…”

Cassandra was turning away, but froze. She looked at him. “You beheaded a shade in one slice,” she pointed out blankly.

“Well, yes, but… that was just unlucky—I mean lucky! I was lucky! The demon was the unlucky one…”

She stared at him for several more seconds. When he started to fidget, she shook her head and continued towards the rift. “I should remember that you did not attempt to run,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“Well, of course not,” he answered innocently. “Where would I run? If the Breach keeps growing, nowhere will be safe.”

After another look, she admitted, “True enough.”

It wasn’t long before they hit another batch of demons. This time, Cassandra paid more attention to how the prisoner fought. He trembled in terror, but he moved methodically—he hung back, watched the shades’ movements, and picked opportune moments to swing the claymore with all the force he could muster, which turned out to be a lot. After he chopped the last shade’s arm off and Cassandra stabbed it through the neck, she paused to take another look at him. It hadn’t been luck, as he claimed, but she couldn’t call it skill either—he was slow and unpracticed despite signs of training. The simple technique worked against shades, but Cassandra feared the hordes likely to come would overwhelm him.

“Do you have experience with the bow?” she asked. Dalish were good archers, right?

“Oh, um, yes!” he nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, I’m not the best… I've only ever beaten cousin Ashill in an archery contest once, and Sarwen always…”

“Perhaps we can find you a spare at the forward camp,” she said, cutting him off. She would feel much better about their chances if he didn’t have to be in striking range of any more demons.

“Oh, ok,” he mumbled, continuing to follow her.

The next couple encounters with demons went a similar way, with her trying to hold their attention while he only lunged into the fray for decisive blows. A couple times, the mark crackled ominously, but the prisoner was getting better at fighting the pain, only whimpering slightly. He never complained about it out loud, at least.

When the rift finally came into view, Cassandra started jogging with the prisoner keeping pace, but by the time they got close, Varric had just put a bolt right through the last wraith’s head. “Seeker, lovely timing! Is that the kid?” he called out, seeing them.

“Quickly! Before more arrive!” Before she could answer, the apostate rushed forwards, grabbed the prisoner’s marked hand by the wrist, and held it up to the rift. He cried in fright, but didn’t resist when a beam of light burst forth and connected them. With sparks and low thrumming, the rift rippled, collapsed in on itself, and disappeared with an bone-shaking rumble.

The prisoner ended up falling onto his rear the moment Solas let go. “What… What did you do?” he gasped, staring at the now calm air.

“ _I_ did nothing,” he replied, crossing his arms behind his back. “The credit is yours.”

“N-No—I mean… that was the mark, wasn’t it?”

Solas went on, “Whatever it is that created the Breach is also responsible for the mark you bear—they are linked. It seems, Seeker, that my theory is correct: that link can be used to close the rifts caused by the Breach.”

“Then… can it close the Breach itself?” Cassandra asked, feeling her first glimmer of real hope since this madness began.

“Possibly.” He turned to the prisoner. “It seems the key to our salvation lies in your hands. Quite literally.”

The prisoner stared up at him, his eyes wide. “Then…? No… No…” he whimpered, starting to scoot backwards. “That can’t… I’m not…”

“Hey, hey! Kid! Calm down!” Varric said, rushing over and kneeling at his side. “You’ll be fine. Do you hear me?”

“I-I-I’m no hero! I’m just a hunter!” he went on, ignoring the hand on his shoulder. “How can I…?”

Cassandra felt that glimmer slowly die out. “Maker, you cannot be serious,” she groaned. “Prisoner! Cease your babbling and—!”

“Seeker, _shut up!”_ Varric snapped, stunning her into silence. They argued often, but she had never heard him shout at anyone like that before.

“I apologize,” Solas sighed, looking at the prisoner sadly. “I did not mean to cause you distress. If it helps, you will not be alone in this venture.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” Varric nodded. “You’ve got me, Bianca, Solas here, the Seeker… oh, and these guys, I guess,” he gestured at the couple other soldiers awkwardly standing around watching. “…And your sister!” he added brightly.

“Nessie?” he asked, finally starting to snap out of his panic. “She’s here?”

“Yup! Firebrand’s been helping us fight off demons since she showed up yesterday. After a couple hiccups.” He pointed towards the crater. “She should be up ahead, helping hold the forward camp. You just stick with us, use that spooky mark thing to close any other rifts we find, and we’ll be golden. Can you handle that?”

The prisoner looked into his eyes for moment before slowly nodding. “Right, use the mark, close rifts, like just now,” he mumbled. “I can do that, I can… I’ll try.”

“Good to hear,” Varric said, helping him up to his feet. “I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever!”

The prisoner chuckled weakly. “So… um… who’s Bianca?”

Cassandra sighed and sent the soldiers, who were inexperienced and exhausted, back to the main camp while the others started to properly introduce themselves. She hadn’t been specific when she told him that the mark was their only clue as to how they could close the Breach. Fortunately, it seemed. If Varric hadn’t been present, she didn’t know how she could’ve done about the prisoner’s meltdown. _She_ certainly didn’t help.

She pushed the guilt down and took the front, leading the rest of the party onwards.

“…By that, he means, ‘you’re welcome for keeping you alive while you were out.’” Varric was saying.

“Keeping me alive?”

“The mark was damaging your body. Through healing magic and minor wards, I’ve managed to mitigate the worst of it,” Solas explained.

“And keep you otherwise healthy for over a day,” Varric added.

“It’s… really been that long? What am I saying, you said you met Nessie yesterday, _so of course it would have to be at least…”_ the prisoner trailed off, before the mark sparked again, driving another cringe of pain through his body.

“Shit, you ok, Kid?” Varric asked, holding a hand out to steady him as they all stopped.

After catching his breath, he stared at the mark. “You… said it would’ve killed me?”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks. “It… still might,” Solas sighed. “I will do everything in my power to prevent such an outcome, but…” He gestured at the mark. “…The magic involved is volatile. The possibility remains.”

“Oh,” he said, looking smaller than ever. He looked up at the Breach with a new sense of dread. He gulped, but, Cassandra noted, he didn’t fall into another panic. Varric patted his arm again, and when the prisoner started walking again, so did the rest of them.

They were silent for a while, the mood dampened, but after they made their way through a couple more small packs of demons, Varric, of course, spoke up. “Sooo… You’re Dalish. What are you and your sister doing away from your clan?”

“We were—Well, not much point in hiding it now, I guess…” the prisoner mumbled. “We were supposed to spy on the Conclave, to find out if the Mage-Templar War would still be… you know… dangerous. To our clan. I went ahead, to scout, since Nessie… well… she can be… impulsive.”

Varric snorted. “Might as well say this weather’s a bit nippy. So why’d your clan send Firebrand at all?”

The prisoner looked at him curiously. “That’s—hasn’t she told you her name?”

“She has, but that’s about it. She’d rather blow up demons than engage in friendly conversation. I’d complain, _buuut_ demon-blasting is in high demand at the moment.”

“I… guess that would make sense, considering… She—She hasn’t called anyone the s-word, has she?”

Cassandra glanced back at him in confusion, but Varric quickly picked up what he meant. “Oh, you mean _shem_. Yeah, she has—quite liberally, in fact. Here’s a _shem_ , there’s a _shem_ , everywhere there’s a _shem_ —”

“Please stop staying it!” he squeaked, cutting the dwarf off. “It’s a very mean word!”

“Alright, keep your pant…s on, Kid,” Varric chuckled, substituting a word at the last moment, while Solas looked on curiously. “We barely know what it means. It’s just a word.”

“Words are powerful,” he muttered, almost idly.

“That’s very true,” Solas commented as Varric raised a finger, then lowered it when he realized he had little room to argue. “Battles can be won, empires can fall, and destinies may be reshaped by words alone.”

“Words didn’t help Kirkwall,” Varric muttered bitterly.

“Rift ahead!” Cassandra suddenly called, holding her hand up.

“Got it, rift now, philosophize later,” Varric grumbled, pulling out his crossbow. “Just keep it cool, Kid. You’ll be fine.”

The prisoner nodded and pulled out his claymore, following behind Cassandra as she ran towards the rift. This time, terror demons materialized around it. Cassandra grimaced, hoping they wouldn’t affect the prisoner too badly.

“Andraste’s ass,” she heard Varric swore, apparently coming to a similar conclusion. “Remember! You’ll be fine!” Solas quickly bombarded one terror demon with chilling bolts, freezing its head over, before Varric shattered it with an explosive bolt. The combo attack had been stunningly quick and smooth, though Cassandra supposed it made sense, considering they had been fighting side-by-side for hours now.

Meanwhile, she engaged the other terror demon and the shades. After she stunned one shade with a shield bash, the prisoner darted in and neatly decapitated it. Cassandra’s eyes flicked over to watch him regain control of the heavy blade and step back, but when she looked back, the terror demon was gone.

She swore, looked back at the prisoner, and saw a pool of sinister light at his feet. “Move!” she roared, dashing towards him and practically throwing him out of the way. Just as he was clear, the terror demon burst from the ground screaming— _the sky is shattered a thousand dead all will join no one can stop it fight or flight_ —but she resisted its oppressive aura and sliced a deep gash in its chest. As it reared back, Solas and Varric unleashed their combo on it, killing it just as easily as the first.

By the time the last shade fell, Varric was already rushing over to the prisoner, who was on all fours, biting his lip and trembling. “See? We’ve got your back, Kid,” he said, patting him. “You’re fine.”

“Y-Yeah,” he gasped, slowly picking the claymore back up and using it to prop himself back onto his feet. “I’m fine. I’m fine and… right, the rift.” He held out a shaking hand, and with another buzzing beam of green light, the rift crackled and shuddered shut. This time, he remained on his feet.

“Well done,” Solas nodded approvingly. “I do have a theory, for next time. You cannot seal a rift while demons live nearby, like an arm stopping you from closing a door. However, I believe you could use the mark to… disrupt the rifts, which would, in turn, disrupt the demons that have just crossed over through it. Like slamming the door on the arm, to extend the metaphor.”

The prisoner, still dazed, nodded. “Disrupt the rifts, got it…” he muttered distantly. He shuddered. “Those were terror demons? That was… _horrible_ …”

Varric patted his back again while Cassandra turned to gate of the forward camp. “The rift is sealed!” she called. “Open the gate!”

Soon, they passed through the bridge they were using as a camp. Cassandra heaved a sigh on seeing who was standing at the command table, arguing with Leliana.

“Seeker! There you are!” Chancellor Roderick called, seeing them. “So the culprit is finally awake. Now, I _order_ you to chain him up and take him to Val Royeaux for his execution!”

The prisoner flinched, but Cassandra stepped in front of him. “I tire of repeating myself,” she growled. “I do _not_ take orders from you!”

 _“Do you_ or _do you not_ serve the Chantry?” he snapped.

“We serve the Most Holy, as you know,” Leliana said patiently, but Cassandra could tell from experience that she was just as sick and tired of arguing the same points with him over and over.

“Which is why you two should be in Val Royeaux awaiting the election of the next Divine, that you may serve _her!”_

“Um… I don’t mean to be rude…” Cassandra looked back at the prisoner, surprised that he was speaking up at all. “…But isn’t the Breach more… immediately pressing than an… election?”

“It’s _your_ fault there is a Breach! That we need an election!” he shouted at him before facing her earnestly. “Seeker! You _must_ see that this is futile! Call a retreat, before more lives are lost!”

“On the contrary, the mark is capable of sealing the rifts. The prisoner has sealed two on our way here. With him, we have a chance to seal the Breach itself!”

“ _If_ you can even reach it!”

“I dunno,” Varric butted in, rubbing his chin. “Stranger’s been doing a fine job keeping the worst off us.”

“Stranger?” the prisoner asked.

“You’ll know her when you see her.”

“You would trust that monster?” the Chancellor was arguing.

“We’ve essentially been trusting her for the last twenty-four hours,” Cassandra pointed out. “We may not have this camp if not for her.” She turned the prisoner. “We must go. The crater is just ahead.”

“Or,” Leliana interrupted, “we could keep the prisoner away from the worst of the fighting. We could take the mountain path.”

“You think _that_ safer? We lost contact with an entire squad up there!”

“By the way, Firebrand should be straight ahead,” Varric mentioned, his idle tone transparently fake.

“What?” the prisoner blurted. “We have to go there!”

“ _You_ don’t get to decide that!” the Chancellor snarled.

“In this case, I will allow it,” Cassandra shut him down. “But first, Leliana, do we have a spare bow and quiver?”

“We do, why?”

“I believe it would serve him better,” she answered, gesturing at the prisoner.

Leliana nodded and walked over to the camp’s small armory at the same time Solas returned from it bearing a bastard sword. “While I agree a ranged weapon would be preferable, should any demon get close, I believe you would find this more suitable than your current blade.”

“Oh… Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to cause trouble… this one’s fine…”

“Kid, that looks like it weighs about half as much as you do,” Varric pointed out. “Just take the smaller sword. No need to overcompensate.”

Once the prisoner was fully re-armed, they set off. “On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” the Chancellor grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. He just had to get the last word in, didn’t he?

Their path to the outskirts of the ruined temple took them past many more corpses, some of them already wrapped up by Chantry sisters. They weren’t the first the party had passed, but this was the most in one place. She didn’t miss the look on the prisoner’s face as he counted them. “All of this… because of the Breach?” he asked.

“Far more will never receive proper funerals,” she said grimly.

He swallowed, looking at the Breach again, looming closer with every step they took.

It wasn’t long before they reached another rift, larger than the previous ones, and a row of soldiers standing before it. “Commander!” Cassandra called out.

Cullen turned to see their group just as the rift began to crackle ominously. “Alright, as before!” he called to the soldiers. “Be ready on my mark, let the mages act first!”

Cassandra briefly looked around for said mages before the focusing on the materializing demons. Shades, wraiths, a terror demon, and a despair demon, more than she had seen at once from the previous rifts. She ran out to join the line of soldiers, with the rest of the party following.

Then, before the demons could act, a great fireball streaked into the despair demon, engulfing it in an explosion, and each wraith was practically obliterated by a head-sized stone smashing through its body. Cassandra looked up and saw the stranger and the Dalish apostate standing on the remains of a nearby wall, staves extended. The stranger was already jumping down, but the elf crouched to regain her breath.

“Nessie!” the prisoner shouted.

“Gethren?” She looked down at him.

“Charge!” Cullen called, and the cacophony of yelling soldiers, screeching demons, and sword against claw interrupted any reunion. Cassandra finally reached the melee and engaged the terror demon, keeping it on the defensive.

“Seeker! Give us an opening!” Solas called out. Their combo, of course. Cassandra reoriented herself to give Solas and Varric clear lines of sight at the demon, and in no time, it was frozen and shattered like the last ones.

Satisfied, she turned to find a new target, only to see the burning, but still alive, despair demon swooping towards her. She grit her teeth and prepared her shield, but heard crackling. The prisoner had his hand pointed at the rift, sending a beam at it, weaker than previous ones. He was trying Solas’s suggestion!

Then the demons began wailing, and the despair demon and the nearest shades all suddenly turned from their targets towards him. _Maker’s Tears!_ Cassandra immediately dashed towards the terrified prisoner’s defense, but the other demons were rushing too.

 _“Gethren!”_ the apostate shrieked. Damn it all, Cassandra just wasn’t fast enough. The despair demon swooped low, reaching towards the prisoner with an icy claw…

And then like a headsman’s axe, a heavy halberd came down on its back and slammed it into the ground. The already wounded demon died quickly and began to dissipate. The stranger’s feet hit the ground, but her armored hand had already let go of the shaft, grabbed a floating mace from behind her, and swung it around and up hard enough to knock a shade’s head into the air with a spray of ichor.

Just then, the prisoner tugged, and with a loud snap, the rift pulsed. The beam of light from the mark broke, and a wave of energy surged across the battlefield. Every demon it hit screeched, spasmed, and fell into a daze, though no one else was affected.

The stranger let go of the mace, and it drifted back among the other levitating weapons at her back. Without ever losing momentum, she pulled the halberd up, gripped it with both hands again, and in one great swing, cleaved apart the other two shades that had approached the prisoner.

And the battle was soon over, the rest of the stunned demons falling just as quickly.

“Prisoner,” Cassandra called, finally walking up to his side. “Are you alright?”

He leaned on his knees, panting heavily. “…Y-Yeah, I think I am…” He looked up at the stranger. “So that’s not a…?”

“No, she is not.”

He nodded, straightened up, and held his hand out again. The nearest soldiers tensed when another beam of light surged at the rift, but it wasn’t long before it collapsed and disappeared with another rumble. After a moment, they began cheering.

Cassandra didn’t join them, noticing the prisoner fall to his knees, clutching the crackling mark.

“Gethren!” the apostate cried again. She jumped down from the wall and rushed over. When she reached the prisoner, she wrapped him up in a tight embrace. Cassandra decided not to interrupt.

“Nessie…” he gasped, weakly returning the hug.

“We are getting you out of here,” she hissed, burying her face into his shoulder. “I don’t care what these _shem_ say. We are going home.”

“Nessie!” he whined at the “mean” word. “Look, we can’t… we can’t just walk away…”

“That cursed thing is killing you!” she squealed, looking him in the eye. “Keeper Istimaethoriel will know what to do! S _athan, is_ _a’ma’lin!”_

“I can’t!” At his outburst, the mage stared wide-eyed. “Nessie, the Breach has already killed thousands, and it will keep killing people.”

“Killing _shemlen_ and flat-ears,” she hissed. “They wouldn’t risk their lives for us! Why—?”

_“That’s not a reason to not do the right thing!”_

She jumped away in shock. He took a few deep breaths before going on. “Look, the Breach is still growing,” he said quietly. “It may not be our problem now, but if I don’t act, it _will_ be.”

She looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but no words came out of her open mouth.

Solas stepped forth, his arms crossed behind his back. “Your brother speaks with wisdom and courage, _da’len,”_ he said softly. “The Breach cannot be ignored. He must go.” She looked up at him, her eyes moist. “If it is any consolation, I will do all in my power to ensure that he lives.”

After a while, she looked back at her brother before sniffling. “Why now, of all times, to grow a backbone?” she asked thickly.

Rather than answer, the prisoner—no, Cassandra couldn’t honestly think that he was guilty anymore—Gethren pulled his tearing sister into another hug. “It’s okay, it'll be fine,” he said.

Cassandra took the moment to observe them. The siblings were remarkably similar—the same tanned skin, dark hair, and large eyes. Their facial tattoos were different—his a tangle of shaded lines over his brow, eyes, and cheeks, hers a sprawl of curling vines—but both a dark green that matched their eyes. She thought him small, but he looked tall and broad next to his sister.

It was Cullen who finally broke the silence. “Lady Cassandra,” he greeted, walking up to her. “I see the apostate’s theory was correct.” He nodded at Solas, who nodded back.

“Indeed. We will set out for the Temple soon,” she replied, trying to remain professional despite the gnawing tangle of guilt eating at her.

He looked up at the Breach. “I hope this wasn’t all for nothing,” he muttered.

 _“It won’t be.”_ Of that, at least, Cassandra was more certain than ever.

He nodded and turned to his soldiers, who had been awkwardly watching the drama. “You four! Go with the Seeker! Do as she says!” The four chosen saluted him and moved to her back. “The rest of you, with me. We’re going back to the camp. Stranger!” He pointed out the lizard-woman, who had just finished bandaging up one soldier’s arm. “You’re with the Seeker, too. Keep them safe.” he ordered, pointing. She slung her bulging pack of weapons back over her shoulder and did her usual sloppy salute.

“I’m going too!” Nesianna shouted from over her brother’s shoulder.

“That was a given,” Cullen shrugged. “Maker be with you, Cassandra.”

“Cullen, wait.” Cassandra grabbed his shoulder before he could walk away. She gestured at the stranger. “Are you certain?” she asked quietly.

He gave her an odd look. “I figured you would trust her enough for this by now,” he said.

“That’s not the problem. Has she slept at all?” The explosion had occurred soon after dawn the previous day, and it was late morning now. While no one could sleep well under the growing Breach, only a few of the rank and file had made it this far without at least a few hours of rest, and yet, according to all reports, the stranger had been just as active all night as she had been all of both days so far. Leliana had never indicated that Argonians needed sleep less than anyone else.

His brow screwed up in thought. “I don’t think so, but she hasn’t slipped up in combat yet.”

“Actually,” Varric cut in, despite their low voices, “She _did_ catch a little sleep this morning.”

“What? When?”

“It was a bit before dawn. After you left your tent, Curly, I saw her slip into it.”

Cullen blinked. _“What.”_

“I’m not joking,” Varric chuckled. “Caught a glimpse of her flopping onto your bedroll.”

Cullen shot the stranger a disturbed glance, but she seemed to be paying more attention to the Dalish siblings.

“Of course,” Varric went on, “she ran out not ten minutes later, looking like she’d seen a ghost. You hiding something terrible in there, Curly?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Cassandra cut him off. “Cullen! She’s a _mage!”_ she hissed, fighting to keep her voice down.

He blinked at her, confused. “Yes, I’m aware of that…?”

“Remember what Leliana told us! Tamriel’s Fade is different! Their mages don’t go there when they dream!”

Cullen’s eyes widened. “That was the first time she’s ever been to the Fade…” he realized.

“Shit, that actually might explain it,” Varric mumbled, rubbing his chin. “What’d she see in there that was so bad?” He paused and looked at the Breach. “…Never mind.”

Suddenly, the mark crackled audibly, and they heard Nesianna squeak in shock and worry. “I don’t know what she saw, but I don’t think now is the time to find out,” Cullen said quickly. “We’ve dallied long enough.”

Cassandra sighed. “You are right. Maker willing, we may discuss this later.” With a shared nod, she and Cullen turned away from each other, catching the attentions of their respective groups. “We move now,” she announced, and the elves, Varric, the stranger, and the other soldiers fell into line.

“Cassandra! You’re still here?”

She fought to hide her annoyed expression. “Leliana,” she greeted, turning to face the other woman, approaching with a squad of archers. “We were just leaving.”

“Then let us be on our way.”

Cassandra nodded and lead the group into the ruins of the temple.

“So um… what’s with her?” Gethren asked, looking at the stranger. “I’ve never read anything about any… lizard-people…”

“I’m Stranger!” she introduced herself brightly.

He blinked. “Shouldn’t that be ‘I’m _a_ stranger’…?”

“Yeah, it’s the damndest thing,” Varric told him. “She doesn’t know Common—we’ve been working on teaching her between all the demons—but she definitely knows what names are. She mostly knows our names, at least. But, for some reason, every time we try to get _her_ name, that’s the only answer we get: Stranger.”

“…So, does her name just happen to sound like the word, or…?”

“I think she actually picked the word since we’d already called her that a bunch of times. Dunno why, but… _Oh.”_

They had finally walked into the great, foreboding crater, made of blackened stone and littered with rubble, and saw a rift, larger than all the previous ones put together, hanging in the air with ominous silence and stillness. Far above them, the Breach itself loomed.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solace stated, looking around sadly.

“What’s left of it,” Varric added with a sigh.

“This is where you were found,” Cassandra told Gethren. “The soldiers said that you fell out of the Fade, and that they saw a woman standing behind you, but no one could identify her.”

He walked forward in a daze, and set his hands on an intact chunk of stone railing. “Creators…” he whispered. He looked up at the Breach. “That’s… a long way up…”

“You may not need to reach it,” Solas told him, pointing at the rift. “That rift there is the first—the key. If you seal that, the Breach may follow.”

“Hope this idea turns out better than your last one,” Varric piped up.

Solas shut his eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid I do owe an apology,” he sighed, turning to Gethren. “I should’ve guessed that attempting to disrupt the rift would attract the attention of the demons, and warned you properly.”

“It’s fine…” he mumbled distantly, while his sister patted his shoulder and scowled briefly at Solas.

He coughed. “While I don’t know if sealing this rift will truly seal the Breach,” he said, “I _can_ tell you that it is currently closed, but not sealed. You cannot properly seal it without first opening it, but doing that _will_ attract attention from the other side.”

“So more demons, then,” Cassandra said grimly.

“Strong big demon,” Stranger added, nodding sagely.

Cassandra looked at her sharply. “How can you possibly know that?”

“By reading any action novel ever, if I had to guess,” Varric answered for her, sharing her grin. “Just look at this setup! Big rift in a big, convenient arena? Come on, it writes itself!”

She rolled her eyes. “Leliana, have your archers take position to kill whatever comes out. The rest of you, find a way down there.”

On her orders, everyone spread out. Stranger, meanwhile, jumped straight off the ledge. When they looked over the edge, they saw her standing with her arms spread out, as if to catch anyone else who jumped.

Cassandra looked at her flatly and shook her head. “A last resort, perhaps,” she muttered, turning away. She could see an intact staircase on the far side of the crater. She heard a sigh but didn’t bother looking as Stranger scrambled back up the ledge and followed.

As the group circled around the crater, a loud voice echoed from the rift. _“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”_

“Wh-wh-what was that?” Gethren yelped.

“Strong big demon?” Stranger asked, her eyes wide with more interest than shock.

“No,” Solas answered, peering at the rift. “An echo. If I were to guess, _that_ is your true culprit, Seeker.”

“Shit! Seeker!” Varric hissed, pointing at the red crystal formations sticking out of the black rock wall ahead. “That’s stuff’s red lyrium!”

“What? You mean like the stuff in the _Tale of the Champion?”_ Gethren asked.

“Yeah, exactly like that. What the hell is it _doing_ here?” Cassandra was surprised that he didn’t preen on discovering one of his readers, but she supposed of there was any topic that could get the dwarf to focus, it was red lyrium.

“Perhaps it came from lyrium veins beneath the temple,” Solas mused. “The magic that caused the Breach could’ve drawn from it, pulled it up, corrupted it…”

“As if this shit wasn’t already bad enough,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “It’s evil. Whatever you guys do, do _not_ touch it. _That means you, too!”_ he suddenly shouted at Stranger, who had been reaching out for a glittering spire they were passing. She jumped in shock and held her hands up innocently.

Then more voices echoed from the rift.

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

_“Someone help me!”_

Cassandra’s jaw dropped. “That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” she gasped, hurrying. Could they find out more? Would the rift itself reveal the culprit? By the time the group made it down the stairs, voices echoed again.

_“Someone help me!”_

_“Wh-wh-what’s happening here? What are you doing to her?”_

“That was your voice!” Cassandra realized, turning to the stunned Gethren. “Most Holy called out to you! But—!”

She was cut off by a flash of light, and she stared. The vision before them was blurry, but what she could see chilled her to the bone: Divine Justinia suspended in the air by bands of red energy, writhing in pain. A large figure loomed over her, but it was too dark and blurry to identify—all she could see was a sinister red glow from its face.

Then a door cracked open, and a familiar face peaked through it. _“Wh-wh-what’s happening here?”_ the image squeaked, shoving the double doors fully open. _“What are you doing to her?”_

 _“Run while you can!”_ Justinia shouted at him, straining against her bonds. _“You have to warn them!”_

 _“We have an intruder,”_ the dark figure declared. _“Slay the elf!”_

Then, with another flash, the scene vanished.

Cassandra stared, feeling as if her heart had stopped. “You _were_ there!” she gasped. She turned on Gethren. “Who was that? What happened to the Divine? What did we see?”

He backed away, shaking his head while his sister stood between them protectively. “I-I-I don’t know! I don’t remember any of that!”

“Significant events in this world are often imprinted onto the Fade,” Solas answered. “And here, the Fade bleeds into this world. What we saw was that imprint—effectively, an echo of reality.”

Stranger tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Wait?” she asked out loud. “More… ?” She waved her hand vaguely at the air as she searched the right words, eventually making an "I'm watching you" gesture.

Cassandra stared as she realized what she was trying to say. Of course! If they waited, they might see more visions that could answer the rest of their questions! They could find out everything behind this disaster!

Then the mark suddenly sparked, and Gethren flinched with a pained yelp. Solas rushed to his side, taking the flaring hand into his own and bathing it in healing magic. “It’s too risky, Seeker,” he declared. “I cannot recommend delaying.”

She shook her head in disappointment. “Of course, you’re right,” she sighed. “Gethren, when you are ready, open the rift. We will deal with whatever comes through.”

He nodded, and everyone positioned themselves in a loose arc around the rift. Archers took knee around the upper levels, and Stranger pulled off her pack, telekinetically withdrew a set of weapons tucked inside and strapped outside it, and tossed it aside. She raised her staff, and layers of defensive magic settled around the group. Seeing everyone ready, Gethren reached out for the rift. The mark thrummed, the rift shuddered, and it opened.

There was a _thud_ as a large foot slammed on the ground. Grey, stonelike skin, bulging muscles, and long horns materialized from the green light, forming a massive figure that looked like it was literally walking out the rift, shoving the edges open with its bulky arms. Cassandra’s heart dropped as the towering pride demon, almost the size of a giant, stood before them and roared.

“HA! Strong big demon!” Stranger laughed triumphantly. She jerked her staff forward, and a sword flew from her back right at its central eye. The sword bounced off, and the beady eye only blinked. Everyone stared, frozen for a second. “Strong big demon,” she repeated, more hesitantly.

The pride demon chuckled, its deep voice rumbling their very bones. It then stepped forward, curling in an arm. “Move!” Cassandra roared as the archers unleashed an ineffectual hail of arrows at it. “It throws lightning!”

Everyone dashed forwards or back to dodge, but one soldier was slow, and when the demon swept its arm out, he was caught in the arced field of lightning it sprayed. He screamed and spasmed in pain, but fell to his knees, still seemingly alive. The demon walked forward, lifting an arm to smash him, but Cassandra charged forward, slamming her shield into its armored knee with all her might. It barely stumbled, but she had caught its attention. From the corner of her eye, she saw Stranger leap in, pick the soldier up, and carry him away, her floating weapons trailing behind as usual.

In all that time, none of the arrows or spells hurled at the demon had so much as made a scratch—its armored hide had to be reinforced by magic.

“Gethren!” she yelled over its booming laughter. “You have to disrupt the rift!” She shuffled backwards, barely avoiding its swift, swinging fist. “Everyone else, keep it off him! If he dies, this will all have been for naught!” The demon swung another arm wildly, a long, thin stream of lightning whipping a pair of archers screaming off their perch.

“G-got it!” he yelped. Standing at a distance, he moved his bow to his right hand and reached out with the mark.

As expected, the demon reacted instantly. It looked over at him, snarled, and held its right arm out. Ominous light gathered in its palm, unmoving despite Cassandra and the other soldiers desperately hammering at its legs.

“Gethren! Move!” Nesianna shrieked. He hesitated, staring into the demon’s palm, but then, Stranger streaked through the air. She uncurled and landed glowing-feet-first against the demon’s arm, and violently kicked off, throwing its aim wide. With a blinding flash and a deafening boom, a straight, solid beam of lightning shot from the demon’s palm, blasting apart a wall to Gethren’s left. Meanwhile, his beam finally disrupted the rift, and the pulse raced through the demon, bringing it down to its knees.

“It’s vulnerable!” Cassandra shouted. “Hit it now!” Everyone scrambled to obey. Arrows now actually sunk into its hide, the warriors’ blades bit into its fleshy waist, and the mages focused their spells at its face. The demon’s groans of pain were viciously satisfying. Stranger, meanwhile, pulled out a pair of axes, jumped on its right arm, and seemed to focus on hacking at the inside of its elbow.

Unfortunately, their advantage didn’t last. The demon shook its head, swung Stranger off its arm, and got back on its feet, nearly trampling a couple of soldiers. At least it was still vulnerable, judging by the arrows still zooming into it, and the arm Stranger attacked heavily bled ichor.

Growling, it began to swing its arms about, spraying lightning all around its feet, but Solas threw a barrier over Cassandra and the soldiers that held long enough for them to get out of range intact. Then Stranger jumped into their midst and cast another enchantment on them, surrounding them in auras that crackled with lightning. Equivalent to the frost and fire auras Cullen had described, Cassandra realized. The other soldiers took it surprisingly stoically, though Cassandra supposed she had no idea how long these men had been fighting alongside the Argonian.

Stranger then switched the staff for her spear, jumped back, and squatted. After gathering physical and magical force in her legs, she sprang through the air at the pride demon’s face, spearpoint first.

Unfortunately, it saw her coming and swung its fist up, smacking her screaming into the sky, scattering her weapons. It might’ve been comical if it weren’t so dire.

“Stranger!” Varric shouted in panic. Cassandra could only spare her a brief glance, but focusing on the demon, she saw that something was wrong with its arm: the elbow was twisted at a sickening angle, the extended spike scratching the demon's own hide. Stranger must’ve cut through some key tendons! Or whatever it was that demons had. But now, the arrows were bouncing off of it again—the demon’s invulnerability seemed to be coming back.

“Dammit,” she growled. “You’ll have to disrupt it again!” she shouted to Gethren. “We’ll try to make you an opening! Wait for it!”

“Right!” he answered, still keeping his distance as the warriors charged back into the fray.

That opening was slow to come. The pride demon, wounded both physically and in nature, was enraged and sought vengeance. Even with the lightning auras—their potency diluted by duration and multiple targets—none of the soldiers could withstand its furious assault. Solas threw on barriers, and Leliana and Varric lobbed smoke grenades at its face, but to no avail. One soldier was bashed into the central column and fell wheezing onto all fours. Another took a dead-on punch, and Cassandra knew he had been crushed instantly. The demon laughed again, and Cassandra's blood boiled in fury.

Then she heard yelling. She chanced a look up, and saw Stranger falling back down from the sky, at the same angle she left at. Instead of panic, her face was hardened in determination, and her body was surging with magic. The pride demon, hearing the yelling, looked up, and she slammed feet-first into its skull, narrowly avoiding goring herself on its spire-like horns. The demon staggered as if hit by a siege weapon and toppled face-first into the ground with an earth-shaking crash. Stranger herself tumbled violently off its head as her enchantments vanished. “R-Rift!” she hissed, slowly pushing herself up on her arms.

Gethren, standing in stunned silence like everyone else, eventually reacted. “O-On it!” he reached out for the rift again and worked on disrupting it. The demon groaned and tried to reach out with an arm, but whatever it was planning, it didn’t have time before the rift snapped, stunning it and stripping it of its defenses again.

The remaining fighters wasted no time striking at the entirely prone demon, but Cassandra hesitated, seeing Stranger struggle to stand. She didn’t know exactly how hurt the Argonian was—both taking and dealing those blows would kill anyone else—but she made a decision: “Solas! Focus on healing Stranger!” she ordered. There was a chance they wouldn’t be able to finish it off before it became invulnerable again, and in that case, they needed her in fighting shape.

“Understood!” He grabbed her by the torso and dragged her away from the fray. Stranger limply waved a hand, and her spell, whatever it was, made it possible for Solas to carry her on his shoulder. Satisfied, Cassandra turned back to the demon, ran over to its wounded arm, and started stabbing, finishing what Stranger had started.

As she feared, the pride demon eventually began moving again. “Be on guard! It’s getting up!” she called, backing away from its arm just as it lashed out at her. With grim satisfaction, she observed the fruit of her efforts: the heavy arm now dangled uselessly from the elbow down. Down a limb, the demon struggled to stand up, but it trembled in fury. Howling, its other arm began lashing wildly with a lightning whip while still on one knee.

“Back away! Stay on the defensive!” she ordered the remaining soldier. “We’re wearing it down!” Indeed, with ichor bleeding from countless wounds including half its eyes, there was a possibility they could finish it without the mark or Stranger.

Then the lightning whip suddenly stretched out, extending over Cassandra. She cursed and raised her shield before it slammed down on her with a crash. She remained on her feet, but she clenched her teeth at electricity coursing through her body. The whip retracted, causing her to stumble forwards.

“Seeker!” Gethren yelled as the demon stomped over to her, snarling. Cassandra tried to shake off the remaining static and raise her guard. It raised its arm again, but then the mark crackled. Both she and the demon looked over and saw Gethren reaching at the rift again, shaking, but determined.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Nesianna shrieked, voicing Cassandra’s thoughts.

“I’m distracting it!” he yelled as the pride demon growled and lurched towards him. Gethren broke the beam and sprinted away, running towards the central column, and the wounded demon lumbered after him, lashing out with its whip. Readying his bow, he fired the occasional arrow at its face, keeping its attention as it chased him behind the thick column while fireballs, bolts, and other arrows continued to chase _it_.

Then Cassandra saw Stranger running towards the column. “She’s healed already?” she gasped.

“It was mostly shock,” Solas explained, approaching and working on healing her. “Her enchantments protected her from actual injury, mostly.”

Gethren was coming around the column’s other side, but as he turned the corner, he started in surprise on seeing Stranger. Before he could say anything, she shushed him and pushed him behind her, readying her bladed staff in ambush. The moment the pride demon turned the corner as well, she yelled, stabbed the blade into a gap in its armored legs, and surged with red magic.

_Blood magic._

Cassandra stared dumbstruck as streams of energy poured from the lurching demon, wound around the staff, and entered suddenly bleeding lines along Stranger's arms. The demon howled, but she also howled, dropping the staff and stumbling onto her knees. She stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked sleeves of her coat. It was almost laughable to Cassandra: the blood mage, surprised that her blood magic had drawn on her blood.

The wounded pride demon was moving again. Seething, it roared and sluggishly turned on Stranger. She didn’t react, still staring at her arms. The demon swung its arm, unusually slowly and clumsily. “Stranger, look out!” Gethren yelled, running in, right into range of the demon’s fist…!

The fist crashed against the ground, but Stranger was standing clear, holding Gethren safely in her arms. Cassandra blinked, barely having seen her move. She was trembling, and her eyes and blood glowed red. She set the stunned Gethren down, faced the demon, and _blurred_.

Screaming, she zoomed up its still extended arm and struck its face with a loud meaty impact, hard enough that the demon reeled backwards. She landed behind it, then jumped again. With another blur and smack, the demon rocked the other way, towards the column. Stranger landed vertically on the column itself and sprang right onto the demon’s head, latching onto its skull with her knees. She rapidly hammered its face in a blur of bloody fists, howling; her gauntlet was falling apart, but both fists pulped flesh and cracked bone. The demon howled and flailed slowly, but its movements were speeding up, and her red glow was fading…

 _“Andraste’s flaming ass!_ It’s still standing after all _that_?” Varric swore as his latest bolt bounced off the demon’s armored back, its invulnerability returning. “Stranger! Whatever the hell you did, it’s wearing off! Get down!”

The warning came too late—the pride demon swung its head around and smashed Stranger into the column. She cried in pain and, when the demon pulled away, flopped all the way to the ground. Its single remaining eye glared balefully at her as it raised a foot and stomped on her legs, driving another shriek from her. Chuckling darkly, it raised its good arm, and light began building in its palm.

Everyone else cried in panic: Nesianna and Varric fruitlessly bombarded the demon’s arm with fireballs and exploding bolts, Solas threw the most powerful barrier he could muster over her, and Gethren reached out to disrupt the rift again, but the demon didn’t react. Stranger herself telekinetically pulled her staff free of the demon’s leg, clutched it in front of her, and poured her mana into her own pink barrier.

With a mocking laugh, the demon fired its beam of lightning, but then stumbled back as its own attack was partially reflected into its bloody face and took its last eye. Stranger’s staff exploded, and she screamed as arcs of lightning got through the barriers and crackled around her twitching body. The rift pulsed, stunning the pride demon again. There wasn’t even time for it to fall on its knees before its skull imploded under all of the fireballs and arrows flying into it at once.

“Finally!” Varric exclaimed as the corpse toppled against the column and began to disintegrate. Solas dashed over to Stranger’s side.

“The rift!” Cassandra finally found her voice. “Seal the rift!”

Gethren nodded and, after taking a few deep breaths, reached out again. The mark lit up and connected to the rift, thrumming louder than ever before, even rumbling. He grit his teeth, clearly in pain, but did not back down. He yelled, and the rift lurched, shrank, and imploded, creating a shockwave that threw everyone off their feet.

Once her head stopped ringing, Cassandra forced herself up on her elbows and looked up. The rift was gone.

_“Gethren!”_

Startled by the shriek, she turned her head and saw that he wasn’t moving. “No!” she gasped, scrambling onto her feet. By the time she got to him, Nesianna was cradling his head, babbling in mixed Common and Elvhen. “Solas! We need you!” she called.

Solas was already running over, but it was clear he was torn from having to leave behind his other patient. Stranger herself was on her back, still blinking at the sky, while Varric and Leliana knelt around her and started feeding her potions. Solas reach Gethren, placed his hands over his throat and chest, and pumped out magic. Once… twice… and on the third, Gethren gasped. Solas sighed in relief. “He will live,” he said.

Nesianna sobbed, hunching over her brother’s head while Solas continued healing him. Cassandra, assured, slowly walked over by Stranger. She stared at her, at blood mage who had saved them.

After a few moments, without prompting, Leliana spoke. “She has made the same unpleasant discovery Tess did,” she said as she sliced the bloody sleeves open with a dagger.

Cassandra blinked. “What?”

She pulled out a tin of elfroot salve and began applying it before continuing. “That the magic of Thedas is far less kind than that of Tamriel. That not all of their spells translate easily.”

Cassandra swallowed, dwelling on her words.

“Not done.”

She blinked. That was Stranger, staring straight up into the sky. “Not done,” she repeated.

Cassandra followed her gaze. The Breach was still there. Dimmer, less turbulent, but still there.

“No,” she had to agree, “we are not done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tickled pink by my own chapter summaries, and I am tempted to use them as chapter names. However, they're a bit more wordy and light-hearted than what I'm going for.


	4. Josephine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Josephine talks about girl stuff.

“My brother? The Herald of Andraste? Are you _shem_ mad?”

Josephine couldn’t hear Cassandra’s reply from this far, even though the small elf’s voice rang loud and clear across Haven.

“No! Shut up! As soon as he wakes up, I’m taking him home!”

Cassandra protested, holding her palms out placatingly.

“I don’t care! The Breach stopped growing, which means it’s not our problem anymore! Stop trying to drag us into your mess!”

By now, Josephine and Leliana were close enough to make out the Seeker’s response. “The Mark is still on your brother’s hand. I fear he is already quite involved in this.”

“And,” Leliana raised her voice, “while the remaining rifts near the mountain have vanished with the first, there are reports of more opening further away. Your brother remains the only one capable of sealing them.” She greeted Cassandra with a nod.

The Seeker nodded back, while the elf turned and scowled.

Once they got close, Leliana went on, “Nesianna, may I introduce my friend, Josephine Montilyet.”

Josephine bowed her head and gave the elf a warm, soothing smile. “ _An’daran Atish’an,”_ she said, enunciating carefully.

Her eyes widened. _“Dirthas Elvhen?”_ she asked.

“Oh, I’m afraid that is all the Elvish I know,” she admitted bashfully.

Nesianna’s eyes then narrowed, and she muttered bitterly under her breath. _Oh, dear._ Josephine had been trying to be friendly, to make her feel more at home, but the greeting seemed to have the opposite effect. She would have to remember this for future meetings with any Dalish.

“So why should I care who you are?” Nesianna growled out loud. “Some ponce-y _shem_ who wants to see their bleeding _herald?”_ She practically spat the last word, as both Cassandra and Leliana winced.

Yes, this one was going to be difficult. Not that Josephine was one to balk at merely “difficult.”

“Nothing so trifling, I assure you,” she replied, unruffled. “Leliana had invited me here to assist Divine Justinia as a diplomat. Sadly, that is no longer possible, but now, the Breach”—she nodded at the bright and ghastly hole in the clouds—"is a threat that must be combated and a mystery that must be solved. I am here to aid Leliana and Seeker Cassandra in their efforts.”

Nesianna squinted. “How, by asking it nicely?” she snarled. She took a step in front of door of the house. “And what does that have to do with my brother?”

Goodness, such hostility from one so young! Josephine was certain her face would look lovely not scrunched up in a scowl. Her charcoal-grey hair could use a combing, though it was at least pulled back in a loose tail to display her exotic tattoos and large eyes…

“To answer your first question,” she started, “our task will inevitably bring us into conflict with other powers. For instance, the Chantry. I am sure you’ve heard Chancellor Roderick calling for your brother’s head.”

“Yes,” she grunted. “He’s annoying, so I ignore him. As do most other people.”

“But some do not,” Josephine pointed out. “He _is_ Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, and one of the few authority figures left in the wake of the Breach. Enough people look up to him that when he casts blame, some respond.”

“She’s right,” Leliana added. “There have already been two attempts on your brother’s life.”

 _“What?”_ Nesianna whirled to face her. “Who? When? How? I’ve been here the entire time!”

“They did not get far,” she shrugged. “Neither of them had been very well-planned. Simply frightened men with more guts than sense. Between Cullen’s guards and my agents, not a single assassin has gotten near your brother.”

Nesianna stared at her for a while, and then she seemed to suddenly realize something. “Wait, if they went after him, what about Stranger? Is she in danger?”

Cassandra scoffed. _“Danger_. As if we could count how many attempts on her life she shrugged off even before we stopped the Breach. You would think they’d learn by now.”

“She has had two more attempts on her life that have also been thwarted,” Leliana answered the question. “…Not counting the first incident, before we heightened the security.”

“The first incident…?”

Leliana gave the elf a look. “You mean to say you weren’t aware?”

“She hasn’t left her brother’s side since we returned to Haven,” Cassandra explained. “The only reason she is out here now is because Adan”—she shrugged back at the cottage door—“forced us out for being too loud.”

“Still, it was _next door!”_

“I had other things on my mind!” Nesianna protested.

“I must confess, I don’t know the details myself,” Josephine spoke up—the conversation regarding her position as diplomat had been thoroughly derailed, they would have to revisit it later. “I know a would-be assassin got near the stranger, but was stopped by someone?”

“What?” Nesianna cried.

“Stranger herself stopped him,” Leliana explained. “Only an hour after we got back, some people were hearing loud, terrible singing from her cottage.” She nodded at the building in question.

“Hang on,” Nesianna cut in, “she was already awake?”

“As far as we are aware, she had never slept in the first place,” Cassandra grunted.

“She got stepped on by a _pride demon!”_

“We _know,”_ she groaned, exasperated.

“ _Eventually,”_ Leliana continued, “a guardsman checked in on her—and possibly demand that she shut up—only to find another guard with two black eyes, dangling from the wall by a dagger through his drawers.”

_“She was already out of bed?”_

“Of course not,” she said with an amused smirk. “She hadn’t moved from her bed at all.” Her smirk grew at the elf’s dropped jaw. “Oh, it’s not _that_ surprising.”

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed, sharing her friend’s grin. “I know a number of nobles in both Antiva and Orlais who boast of their ability to slay assassins without ever having to get out of bed.”

“You _shem_ are all mad!” she shrieked, pointing. “ _Stranger_ is mad!” She clutched at the air as if to strangle someone. “Is she not getting any rest at all?”

Before anyone could answer, she started stomping over to the other house. The others, exchanging looks of varying degrees of amusement, followed.

Even as they got near, Josephine could faintly hear conversation from the windows. The door was slammed open, the conversation stopped, and she got her first look at the people inside: Varric Tethras, the scandalous, brilliant author and pain in Cassandra’s side, with his curious folded crossbow and his magnificently-groomed chest hair; the apostate elf, Solas, with shabby clothes but piercing eyes and a straight posture, even seated; and then the stranger.

She really did have the head of a dragonling—or rather, a blend of different breeds of dragonling heads she had seen mounted. Her snout was shorter and thicker than most, and her jaw was smooth and slim, with no underbite. Her scales, an unfortunate dull moss tone, were mostly smooth and uniform, except for the rough, darker ridges along her cheeks and brows that framed her eyes. The eyes themselves were a brilliant violet with a crystalline texture, though the slit pupils and lack of visible whites were startling. Her face was framed by two rows of thin bone-white horns going up her skull: the lowest pair were barely nubs, while the highest, largest pair twisted out, down, in, and then pointed backwards. The two pairs between were also in between in length and thickness, like steps in the largest pair’s growth.

Despite her scorched scales and scarred arms, her lips were pulled into a too-wide smile, showing a mouthful of bright triangular teeth.

Yes, making this one presentable would be more than difficult. She just looked so… beastly! Josephine believed Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen when they said the stranger was neither a demon nor an abomination, but it would be _her_ job to convince many more people in Haven and beyond of that fact. “Difficult” didn’t begin to describe the task.

Still, she was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Josephine?”

Oh, right. She had been vaguely paying attention as they filed in, Nesianna shouted for a bit, the stranger laughed her off, and introductions began proper.

“I am Josephine Motilyet,” she greeted without hesitation, curtsying lightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” After a pause, she faced Solas. Perhaps this time… _“An’daran Atish’an,”_ she said with a nod.

Solas looked pleased, his lips twitching into a small smile. _“Enastesha ea amahn_. Well met, Lady Montilyet,” he said, nodding back. Nesianna actually seemed taken aback by the civility.

Smiling, Josephine turned to the dwarf. “Varric Tethras,” she stated. “I must confess, I am quite a fan of yours.” Varric puffed up like a peacock while Cassandra audibly rolled her eyes. “Though, I do wonder about _Hard in Hightown_ ’s sequel…”

Varric immediately deflated and cut her off with a groan. “Wonder why it’s utter shit? Because that one’s not mine,” he sighed, gripping his temple. “I swear, one of these days, I’m going to find the duster responsible for that garbage and introduce him to my editor.”

Nesianna blinked at him. “Do… do you mean your crossbow?”

He looked her in the eye. “No, my actual editor!” he said earnestly. “Best in the business! She runs half the Coterie in Kirkwall, stickler for grammar. She once killed a man over a semicolon. I'd never print anything without her.”

“I… Which one is the semicolon, again?” she mumbled vacantly.

“A dot over a comma… Just ask your brother,” he shrugged. “If he’s a tenth as much as a bookworm as you say, he’ll be familiar.”

She blinked and, after a moment, jumped. “Gethren!” she cried. “I can’t believe I left him unguarded!”

Leliana held out a hand to stop her from bolting for the door. “Cullen and I have hand-picked the guards watching over him. He’ll be fine.”

“But—!”

“He ok.”

She stopped and looked back at the stranger, still casually lying back on her pile of cushions. With a twitch of her hand, resting on the blanket, her eyes flashed pink. “I see. He ok,” she repeated slowly but clumsily, as one would expect from a foreigner just beginning to learn a new language.

After looking back and forth, Nesianna sighed in defeat. She walked over to the side of the bed, next to Solas’s chair, and glared half-heartedly. “You really _should_ be sleeping,” she muttered.

While the stranger chuckled, Josephine took the opportunity to approach, standing on Varric’s side of the bed, closer to the fireplace. “And… Stranger, you call yourself?” she said, assiduously hiding her uneasiness. Leliana and Cassandra were standing right there, just in case, she reminded herself. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

The stranger grinned up at her, flashing her teeth again. “Hello!” she rasped brightly. “I am Stranger-From-Beyond!”

Josephine’s eyebrows popped up, and with a quick glance around the room, she saw hers weren’t the only ones.

“Is that… naming convention common for Argonians?” she asked. _One question at a time._

“Stranger-From-Beyond” only looked blankly at her and shrugged. Nesianna and Solas were muttering quietly to each other.

“Let’s try using easier words, Ruffles,” Varric told Josephine before turning to Stranger. “Clearly, that’s not your real name. For starters, it’s made of words we had to teach you,” he said casually. Then he leaned forward and started speaking more deliberately. “So why the fake… false name?” he asked.

“Not false!” she protested. “Name is…” Her lips and cheeks twitched as she twirled the stick of charcoal that was in her fingers. After a few seconds, she raised the small notebook that was in her other hand and rapidly flipped through it. Josephine couldn’t make heads or tails out of any of the scratchings, but it certainly didn’t _look_ very organized.

“I… more names,” Stranger continued haltingly. “Name is I. I am. Before, I am… more…?” She trailed off, staring at her notebook, before bouncing in delight. “New!” she shouted. “New land! New I! New name!”

Everyone exchanged looks. “She’s picking a new name because _she’s_ changed? It’s not the first time? That… sounds kind of demon-y,” Varric pointed out nervously.

“No, we have already ruled out that possibility,” Cassandra pointed out, though she narrowed her eyes at Stranger.

“It may be metaphorical,” Solas mused, clasping his hands thoughtfully. “Or, I imagine, it is not her nature that changes, but her _role.”_

“What do you mean?” Nesianna asked him, wide-eyed.

“Consider what her new name _is,”_ he explained. _“Stranger_. Why would she pick that? In what sense is she a stranger?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Well, she _is_ really strange to us,” she replied, tapping her chin.

 _“To us_ , exactly,” he nodded. “She is completely unfamiliar to us, or rather, to all of Thedas. To us, she is a stranger. A stranger from beyond the boundaries of Thedas as we know it. That is who she is, so that is her name.”

The others exchanged looks again, nodding yes, that did make some sense.

“Role…” Stranger muttered thoughtfully, scribbling in her notebook. “New to-us, new role, new name…”

Cassandra frowned. “Wait, she’s been calling herself ‘stranger’ since well before anyone could’ve explained to her what the word actually meant,” she pointed out.

“Eh, Curly and I already called her that a few times before she started using it,” Varric shrugged. “It’s probably a case of ‘why fix what’s not broken?’ to her.”

“So, do Argonians or Tamrielans usually name themselves? Choose new names?” Josephine asked Stranger again.

“No,” she replied, still scribbling. “Only… little Argonians?”

“Argonian children?” Leliana asked.

“I believe she means ‘few,’” Solas stated.

“Few!” Stanger agreed, flipping back through her notebook and scribbling excitedly. “Few Argonians, new names!” She paused. “Some? Some Argonians? Few?” She tilted her head doubtfully.

“Have you been at this long?” Cassandra asked Solas and Varric. “Trying to teach her the trade tongue?”

“I’ve been here for hours,” Varric answered. “Chuckles here only joined us a…” He glanced at the window, seeing the light of sunset outside. “Well shit, it’s been that long? I’m going to have to get some food in me! And in you!” he said, pointing at Stranger.

“I?” she asked.

“Food!” He mimed biting something and patted his belly.

Stranger’s eyes lit up and she sat up in bed. “Yes! Food!” she agreed. “Many food!”

Solas chuckled briefly, but reached out to push her back onto the cushions. “You still must rest,” he told her. She pouted, but didn’t resist. Facing Cassandra and Leliana, he told them, “She has proven herself an excellent student. At her current rate, she’ll be speaking complete sentences in a matter of weeks.”

“Quite impressive,” Leliana nodded. “Tess took longer than that, though it turned out that was because she was being poisoned.” At the surprised looks she got, she shrugged. “Long story, I’ll tell it later.”

Cassandra sighed. “Solas, will you continue teaching her? I fear if we leave her to Varric, her vocabulary will a quarter innuendo.”

“You know what, Seeker?” Varric said ruefully. “I’m going to take that as a challenge.”

While she rolled her eyes, Solas answered her. “Of course, as often as I can.” His eyes were practically gleaming. “She is _fascinating!_ I have never seen anyone or anything quite like her. An entirely new, unbiased perspective on this land! On magic! On the Fade! I sooner we can converse properly, the better.”

Suddenly, Stranger barked something. She was looking in the direction of the Herald’s house, her irises glowing pink.

“What? Is Gethren in danger?” Nesianna yelped, ready to bolt for the door.

“Not danger…” Stranger replied. “Healer.”

“…What?”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Before anyone could respond, it opened, showing a bearded dour-faced man. “Oi, mage!” he called. “The mark’s acting up again. I think you’d better double-check whatever it is you did.”

“Very well, Adan,” Solas said, standing from his chair. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Montilyet,” he nodded to her before walking to the door.

Nesianna followed close behind him. “You’ll keep teaching me?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course, _da’len,”_ he nodded as they left.

After the elves were out the door, Varric stood up as well. “Right. I’ll swing by the tavern and bring you back some food,” he told Stranger. He tilted his head. “I… don’t actually know if you eat the same stuff as us. I’ll just get a bit of everything, see what works.”

“Everything, yes!” she grinned at him.

Varric laughed as he offered his chair to Josephine and then walked out. “Alright, Seeker! No interrogations while I’m gone!” His tone was jovial, but there was an unmistakable edge to his expression as he passed Cassandra. She just glared back until he shut the door behind him.

Now, only the three woman were left with Stranger. Josephine remained in Varric’s seat while the others stepped closer. Stranger regarded them with mild apprehension. Josephine couldn’t help but think her very brave—while she considered Cassandra and Leliana good friends, she knew the two of them could be extremely intimidating, even to anyone not bedridden by injury.

“Stranger, we need to talk about what you did earlier today,” Leliana said, her face stony.

Stranger blinked up at her in polite confusion.

“Your _blood magic,”_ Cassandra practically growled.

She tilted her head. “Blood magic?” she repeated. She started flipping through the notebook again. “Blood… blood… _Oh!”_ She perked up, but her excitement immediately drained away. _“Blood magic,”_ she said again, looking at her bare arms, which still bore faint red lines.

“You understand that much,” Leliana nodded. “Good, that makes this easier. We _will_ have to give you a full lecture soon—about the history of Thedas and the dangers of magic.”

Stranger looked up again. “Blood magic danger?” She asked, raising one hand. “ _Magic_ danger?” She raised the other. Was just blood magic dangerous, or all magic?

“Both,” Cassandra stated, pointing at both hands.

“It’s more accurate to say _mages_ are dangerous _and_ endangered,” Leliana corrected. “In Thedas, mages are born, not taught, and they are rare. They risk possession by demons from the Fade, which they visit when they dream. That is also why most other people fear them.”

Stranger clearly didn’t understand all of what was being said, but she listened intently anyways.

“Blood magic is even more dangerous,” Cassandra continued. “It’s inherently corruptive. Users can and will use the blood of others or summon demons.”

She blinked at them for a while before looking back down at her arms. “…I not more blood magic,” she said, somewhere between a statement and a question. “Blood magic no.”

“No more blood magic,” Leliana nodded.

Cassandra, meanwhile, kept scowling. “I’m yet to be convinced you fully understand the dangers of blood magic.”

“Which is why she must continue learning Common, so that we _can_ explain them to her,” Leliana told her.

After a few moments, Cassandra sighed. “Then this will do for now,” she nodded.

They were silent for a moment, though Stranger was back to scribbling in her notebook.

“Pardon me,” Josephine suddenly spoke up. She leaned towards the bed, peering closely. “Are those holes in your horns?” she asked.

Stranger tilted her head, confused.

Josephine hesitated, but slowly brought a hand up. “May I…?”

When she saw the hand, her lips stretched into a smirk, and her eyes crinkled in clear amusement. “Yes,” she said, lifting her head from the cushions and tilting it.

Josephine was aware of Leliana and Cassandra watching keenly while she delicately ran her fingers along the largest of Stranger’s offered horns. Just as she thought, there were several holes along its length. Bringing her head closer, she realized she could actually see straight through them. The other horns had similar holes. One explanation sprang to mind.

“Are those for piercings?” Josephine asked. She tapped one of her own pearl earrings. “Like this?”

Stranger’s eyes began to sparkle, her pupils widening. “Yes!” she exclaimed. Without moving her head from Josephine’s grasp, she dropped her notebook, letting it drift in the air as if it were weightless, and with a gesture, summoned a proper sketchbook from a nearby dresser straight into her hand. Josephine was startled, but her shock was quickly replaced by delighted curiosity as Stranger flipped through a few filled pages—too fast for Josephine to identify anything—before stopping on a fresh sheet. Immediately, her left hand blurred across it, outlining a profile view of her own horns, and then she copied it several times across the page, along with a few back views.

Leliana approached the other side of the bed, regarding the still-floating notebook with mild amusement, and leaned in to watch. Josephine hardly noticed, absolutely enraptured as Stranger covered the sketched horns in imaginative designs. Tassels! Filigree! Bead curtains! Jewels hanging from horns! Jewels embedded in horns! Ribbons tied around horns! Ribbons stretched taught across horns! Ribbons draped loosely between horns!

“My, my, hanging that much chain from your head?” Leliana asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Josephine nodded rapidly, her own eyes sparkling. “Horns are far sturdier than ears! They can support so much more weight!” She began rubbing her palms together, wriggling in excitement. “Oh, so many possibilities! I have never considered the aesthetic potential of horns before!”

“I’d be concerned if you had,” Cassandra said dryly, still standing at the foot of Stranger’s bed with her arms crossed. “Is this really important?”

“Hush, the big girls are talking,” Leliana said, waving her off. “Ah! Such asymmetry! _Daring!”_

Cassandra just rolled her eyes, walking away and looking out a window while the other two fawned over the sketches and Stranger babbled excitedly.

“What about colors?” Josephine was gushing. “Do you have preferences? Perhaps red? No, violet is more your color…”

Stranger paused her drawing to give her a curious look. Huffing, Josephine looked around the room, looking for something she could use to point out colors, but it was disappointingly drab. The brightest-colored objects were the blanket and cushions on the bed, but they were all similar shades of blue, none of which suited Stranger anyways.

“We need a color wheel!” she exclaimed. “You stay put! I’ll be right back!” Before Stranger—or anyone else—could respond, she rushed for the door.

“She _does_ remember she has actual duties here?” she heard Cassandra ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this short filler chapter took a while to come out, didn't it?
> 
> I've been replaying Inquisition and brainstorming how these character arcs are actually going to play out. That's something you want to hear from an author a few chapters into their story, right?
> 
> I should also note that, having re-immersed myself in the world of Thedas and gotten a better grip on these characters, I've gone back and edited the previous chapters. Nothing major, mind.


	5. Nesianna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nesianna begins to inquisit.

“Gethren!” Nesianna cried, flinging herself at her brother and wrapping her arms around him.

After a moment of surprise, he returned the hug just as enthusiastically. She tried not to tear up, just seeing him on his feet after days of lying in bed, unresponsive.

The hug felt disappointingly quick, as he tapped her shoulder. “People are staring,” he muttered, his body tense. “Can we keep moving?”

Right. It’s not as if one day of unexpected heroics would make him comfortable with being the center of attention. And it’s not like she would’ve been comfortable in his place either. It was creepy, the way all the _shem_ crowded around to gawk at her brother, uttering blessings and bowing and parting as he got near. She was pretty sure no one had ordered the soldiers to stand in perfect lines outside their house, but she saw them form up herself.

Nodding, she backed away and walked with him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “We should go to the Chantry,” she told him. “Leliana and Cassandra will need to talk to you.”

He turned to her, looking at her oddly. “I figured you’d want us to return to the clan as soon as possible,” he said.

She sighed. “I do really want to, but… we talked. They made some good points. This… thing they’re doing… It’s important. You should at least hear them out first.”

He kept staring at her for several seconds, though she pointedly kept her eyes ahead.

After wading through hundreds of scrutinizing eyes and hundreds of whispered rumors, they finally reached their destination. Nesianna would’ve never believed she could’ve been so relieved to see a Chantry before now. She picked up the pace and quickly ushered Gethren through the door. She could _feel_ the tension melt from his shoulders when they finally left the public view.

There were a few clerks and Chantry sisters about, but Nesianna ignored them, shepherding her brother to the far end of the hall. As they drew near, they could hear arguing, particularly the voice of Nesianna’s least favorite person in Haven. She growled and slammed the door open.

The chancellor, naturally, immediately ordered the few guards in the room to chain her brother. He flinched, but stood his ground at her shoulder. Cassandra immediately revoked the order and sent them out. The chancellor bitched about this.

“I-I-I did what I could!” Gethren protested. “I sealed the rifts!”

“It almost killed him!” Nesianna added, glaring at the man.

“But it did not!” he replied, glaring back. “How quite _convenient_ for the two of you!”

The chancellor kept bitching at everyone in the room. Leliana pointed out that at this point, _he_ was more of a suspect than Gethren. Honestly, that made some sense to Nesianna. The _shem_ had been awfully quick to point fingers since the beginning…

Then Cassandra brought up a subject Nesianna would rather ignore.

 _“Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-What?”_ Gethren cried. “You think I was sent? By _your_ Maker?” He shook his head dazedly. “Is that why everyone outside was calling me Herald of Andraste?”

“Utter foolishness,” the chancellor grumbled. “You’d do well to ignore it.”

Everyone in the room gave him looks that screamed _“Really?”_ He was going to try to give advice now? A part of Nesianna was tempted to believe in this Herald business just to spite him.

Gethren shook his head. “Why would anyone think that?” he asked Cassandra.

“They saw what you have done. You sealed the rifts up to the temple, and you stopped the Breach from growing. Furthermore, how you survived the explosion is unknown. The people believe that the woman seen behind you in the rift was Andraste herself, who shielded you within the Fade and granted you the mark to… help the rest of us.”

Nesianna blinked. She hesitated there. Why?

Gethren just looked sick, staring at the mark on his palm.

“Does it hurt?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said. “I just… I just wish I knew what it really was.”

“We will find out,” Cassandra told him. “You won’t be alone.”

He looked up at her. “So you think I’m innocent now?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I was wrong to accuse you. I know what I saw at the temple. You tried to help Most Holy. You are not the enemy.”

“That is not for you to decide!” Chancellor Arsehole snapped.

Cassandra responded by slamming the heavy book she had been carrying onto the table with a loud bang. “You know what this is,” she said to him. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act.” Wait, was that what the book was? It was awfully thick for just a writ. How large was the Divine’s handwriting? “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn,” Cassandra went on, approaching the chancellor and backing him against a wall. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or _without_ your approval.” She jabbed a finger at his chest.

He glared, eventually shaking his head, and turned away, silently walking out of the room past the siblings and slamming the door.

“Will he be a problem?” Nesianna asked, glaring after him.

“Nothing we haven’t already expected,” Leliana shrugged.

“The Inquisition?” Gethren mumbled softly. “You really want to revive it? Are you sure?”

“Wait, revive?” Nesianna asked. “Reborn? There was another Inquisition?”

Gethren turned to her. “The first Inquisition was founded ages ago, predating even the Chantry,” he explained, his posture straightening up and his voice becoming louder. “It was formed in the chaos that followed the fall of the Tevinter Imperium and the First Blight, and sought to restore order and protect the common folk from outlaws and magic.” The door opened, but he didn’t seem to notice. “It is remembered for being brutal, imposing its own justice on the world, but ultimately, when their task was complete, it was disbanded and the people formed the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order.”

Cassandra blinked at him. Leliana commented “You are well-informed.”

Gethren froze up and shrank. “I… read a lot,” he said weakly.

“He really does,” Nesianna sighed. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Restoring order? Protecting people from magic? Imposing our own justice?”

“Do you not see the need?” Cassandra asked. “You have seen the Chantry’s response to the Breach: to waste time blindly pointing fingers and talking about an election that will take _months_ to bear results.” She shook her head. “We must act. No one else will.”

“Well said, Cassandra,” a new voice spoke. Ah, the ambassador. “It is good to properly meet you, Herald,” Josephine said. _“An’daran Atish’an.”_

Gethren didn’t respond right away. Odd, Nesianna was expecting a response more like Solas’s, with more grace then a _shem_ making a token effort to imitate their lost language deserved. Frowning, she turned to look at him. He was staring wide-eyed at the newcomer, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Gethren?” she asked, nudging him with an elbow. He wasn’t usually this rude!

He jumped, like that one time she accidently shocked him while learning a lightning spell, and when he shut his mouth, his teeth clacked audibly. “O-Oh! Yes! Hello! _L-L-Lath’in’iseth!”_ he squeaked, bobbing his head like a rag doll’s.

“Herald, may I introduce Lady Josephine Montilyet,” Leliana said with an odd lilt to her voice, as if trying to stifle laughter. Did someone make a joke? “She will be serving the Inquisition as Ambassador and Chief Diplomat.”

“A pleasure,” she said, smiling gracefully.

Gethren babbled something back, wringing his hands fiercely, still acting oddly. Did the mark do something to him? Or did _Josephine_ do something to him? This started when he first saw her! But she wasn’t a mage, _or was she?_ Nesianna would have to investigate!

The door opened again, cutting off her thoughts and the conversation in the room. Cullen marched in, Stanger just behind him. “Ah, Herald,” he greeted. “So it’s true—you’re awake at last.” Meanwhile, Stranger—wearing an intricate weave of purple ribbons across her horns today—strode by him and casually sat herself on the table.

“Oh, hello,” Gethren replied. He looked down, still wringing his hands. “Is… Is this going to keep happening? I’m just ‘Herald’ now?”

“I’m sure the Chantry wishes otherwise,” he said. Looking over at the writ on the table, he asked “It’s official now?”

“Yes,” Cassandra nodded. “The Inquisition has begun.”

“That explains why the Chancellor was in such a huff when we passed him. I figured it was just from seeing Stranger, as usual.”

Cassandra snorted. “You’ve already met Commander Cullen,” she said to Gethren. “He leads the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are,” he sighed. “We unfortunately don’t have much in the way of numbers.”

After a moment, Gethren turned his head to look at the other newcomer questioningly.

She hopped off the table. “Hello, marked one! I am Stranger-from-Beyond!” she greeted cheerfully, holding her unarmored hand out.

“Oh, um, hello.” He reached out with his right hand first, but abruptly switched to his left to match her, and shook her hand meekly. “I-I am Gethren Lavellan.” As soon as she let got and sat back on the table, he started wringing his hands again. “Marked one? That’s… better than Herald, honestly…” He kept staring at her, head tilted. It was obvious that he was burning with questions.

“Stranger is not of this world,” Leliana explained for him. “She hails from Tamriel, the same land as Tessariel, the Golden Elf. We’re trying to spread that fact as far and wide as we can.”

Gethren blinked. “The Golden Elf? She was from another world? That… would explain some things. Though…” He looked at Stranger. “So you’re not from Beyond as in the _Fade_ , but as in from Beyond Thedas?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Fade is beyond?” she asked. “Solas say no.”

“No, ‘Beyond’ is another name for the Fade some Dalish use,” he explained. Yeah, Nesianna thought that might cause confusion. “Exactly how far ‘beyond’ _is_ Tamriel?”

She just shrugged. Leliana answered for her again. “Tess suspected that no ship on Thedas could ever reach it, no matter how far across any ocean it sailed. After all, Tamrielans have extensively mapped their world’s cosmology, and it is nothing like ours. Rather than a Fade separated from the mortal world by a thin Veil, they have multiple planes of Oblivion separated by much stronger barriers.”

This was new to Nesianna. “Then their mages must have a lot of trouble doing magic, then,” she muttered, tapping her chin. “Maybe Stranger’s such a powerful mage because magic is easier here? Or maybe having multiple Fades makes it easier for them…?”

“The very nature of magic is different in Tamriel,” Leliana told her. “Another reason Tess was certain Tamriel was of a completely different world. She often complained that some of her usual spells were much more difficult or even impossible to cast, how much of her knowledge of magical theory was made irrelevant, and about her dependency on staves.”

 _“Yes,”_ Stranger grunted emphatically at that. She tapped the staff—this one actually a trident with shiny curving prongs and a sturdy metal shaft—stowed on her back. “Staff is bother.”

“Oh, come on,” Nesianna snipped. “It’s not like you _need_ a staff to do magic.”

“Is that why you _didn’t_ spend the first half of your duel scrambling for your staff?” Cullen asked. “Oh, wait…”

“Shut up, _shem!”_ she hissed. She’d wipe that dumb smirk off his dumb pretty face…

 _“Nessie!”_ Gethren whined at her.

Cassandra then cleared her throat loudly, cutting everyone off.

Leliana continued with an slight smirk. “In Tamriel, mages typically had no need for focusing aids outside of specific circumstances like rituals. Instead, their staves contained spells of their own, independent of the wielder, and were in fact usable by anyone.”

Gethren was wide-eyed. “Anyone with a staff could use magic?”

Leliana’s smirk grew. “Better. Literally any person was capable of wielding magic. Period.”

The room was silent for moment.

“That’s amazing!” Nesianna exclaimed. “Just imagine! Magic could be used for all sorts of things! The ancient elves were like that, too!”

“So _your_ stories say,” Cassandra grunted.

“You’re frightened,” Gethren muttered before Nesianna could snap back, tilting his head at Cassandra and Cullen.

“Of _course_ it’s frightening!” Cullen said loudly. “Don’t you see the dangers of unchecked magic? Just to start, if anyone could use magic, anyone could become an abomination!”

“As I’ve already explained to you,” Leliana told him, “Daedra—the inhabitants of Oblivion—didn’t cross over by stealing bodies. Possession was too rare to be considered a legitimate concern.”

“And magic wouldn’t be unchecked, would it?” Gethren added, his right hand’s fingers twiddling—just as they typically did when he was deep in thought. “If magic were commonplace, it’s only natural that anti-magic countermeasures would be developed to match.”

“Like swords!” Nesianna gasped.

Cullen blinked at her. “Like… swords?”

“Swords are dangerous! And anyone could swing one, but people have armor and shields, so they’re less dangerous!”

“Exactly!” Gethren agreed, cutting off Cullen’s argument. He started to pace. “And most people don’t even bother wearing armor, because they trust the security granted by guards or soldiers or whomever else to protect them from violence! It’d be the same for magic! If there were sufficient reliable magic experts or anti-magic defenses available, no one would feel particularly wary of it! Magic would be considered just another skill!”

Then he looked up and saw the astonished looks he was getting, though Leliana and Stranger seemed more amused than anything else. Almost immediately, he seemed to shrink, hunching over and looking down. “I mean… I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen much magic besides Nessie’s.”

“On the contrary,” Leliana said, “I find your insight quite interesting. Wouldn’t you agree, Josie?” she added with a smirk.

“Indeed,” she answered, throwing on her graceful smile. “You are pleasantly eloquent, Herald.”

He blushed and mumbled something, back to wringing his hands.

“Again, he reads a lot,” Nesianna grunted.

“You make it sound so simple,” Cassandra grumbled, before crossing her arms. “If we could return to the topic at hand…”

“We had a topic?” Nesianna asked. What were they talking about before Tamrielan magic came up?

“The _Inquisition,”_ she answered. Right, that thing.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana started. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

Cassandra continued, facing Gethren, “But we have no choice. We must act now—and we need _you_ at our side.” She held out her hand. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but _please_ , help us fix this, before it is too late.”

Nesianna held her breath. She had been dreading this. She already knew that he couldn’t refuse without hating himself for the rest of his life, but did he have the courage to go through? She put a hand on his shoulder.

Gethren trembled, looking between Cassandra’s outstretched hand and the glowing mark on his. “I-I-I…” He gulped loudly. “I’m just a hunter… How can I be so important?”

“You is scare?”

He blinked, looking up at Stranger, who had been quietly scribbling in her ever-present notebook the entire time. “P-Pardon?” he asked.

Stranger snapped the notebook shut and set it on the table. “Is okay,” she said, sliding off the table and approaching him. “Fate is scary, some. But…” She pointed up at the ceiling. “Breach is problem. Problem must stop. Yes?”

“I-It’s not that easy…” he protested weakly.

“Not easy,” she nodded. “Simple, not easy.” She suddenly grabbed his marked hand, holding it up. “You is fate-marked,” she declared. “You say yes, or you say no. Simple.” She let go of his hand. After a moment, she looked at Cullen. “Words good?” she asked.

He snorted and smirked. “’You is’ should be ‘you are,’” he said. “But good enough.”

“You are…” she repeated, picking her notebook back up.

Gethren, meanwhile, took a deep breath. “Well, the Keeper always said I’m too inquisitive for my own good,” he said with a weak chuckle, finally shaking Cassandra’s hand. Josephine giggled.

Nesianna sighed. “If you have Gethren, then you have me,” she declared, standing at his side.

“It’s good to have you both,” Cassandra nodded. “Let us begin.”

Then Stranger marched for the door. “Marked one!” she said, her voice commanding.

“Y-Y-Yes?” he squeaked.

“Later, today, you go training field!”

“O-Okay… Um… What for?”

As she opened the door, she finally turned to look at him, flashing a toothy grin. “Training!” she answered, then walked out and shut the door behind her.

In the following silence, Cullen sighed. “She does love her theatrics,” he said, shaking his head.

“I… have a bad feeling about this,” Gethren gulped, wringing his hands.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Cullen assured him. “She’s good at what she does.”

“Come on,” Nesianna said, putting her hand on his shoulder again. “You should lie down for a bit.”

He nodded as she guided him to the door. “Lying down sounds good, but…” he looked back.

Cassandra waved him off. “Go,” she said. “Get your rest. We will handle things for now.”

He didn’t argue further as Nesianna shepherded him through the door, leaving the room.


End file.
